Resident Evil: REbirth
by amazingarchangel
Summary: Leon's career is over after being ousted by the DSO because of a failed mission. Now he's left to run headlong down a path of self-destruction and nothing and no one can save him. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, something to pull him from the fire. But is it the light of an old colleague? Or is it the headlights of the freight train barreling down the tracks?
1. Girls, Girls, Girls

April 19th 2016, 2330, Washington, DC

* * *

The loud, sleazy hard-rock music blared in Leon's ears as he downed his umpteenth Jack & Coke. Behind him, girls danced and took their clothes off underneath dim 'mood lighting' for the sweaty, desperate men in attendance who prayed that this would be the night that they would find a cure for their blue-balls. He waved his hand, signalling for the bartender, a large, and rotund, Hells Angels looking gentleman, to come over and refill his glass. The man sauntered over and pulled the bottle of Jack and the soda gun out from underneath the counter.

Leon creased his brow and glared drunkenly at the bartender as he mixed a very Coke heavy Jack & Coke. "I paid for alcohol, not soda." He slurred.

The bartender crossed his arms, his lip twitching. "You've had more than your share tonight, bud. This is your last drink and then you're cut off. Understand?"

Leon looked at the disappointment in front of him; referring to both the drink and the bartender. "You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me." He grumbled, taking a sip of the drink. He had half a mind to smash the glass on this shitbird's head, but reconsidered because he didn't feel like getting kicked out of his favorite strip club.

"Why don't you go spend your money on one of the girls?" The bartender asked, polishing a glass with a rag. "You look like a lonely motherfucker."

Leon took another sip of his soda. "I don't come here for the girls. I come here for the cheap drinks and thrilling conversation." He joked, smirking as he tipped his glass to the bartender. The man merely shook his head and sighed, walking off to pretend to do work. Leon spun around on his stool and looked out at the club.

There was a main stage with a single pole, and several smaller stages scattered around, each with a girl dancing on it. There were red velvet chairs as well, some with overweight, most likely married men, sweating through every orifice as gorgeous, young women gyrated their bodies on top of them. A VIP area sat out of the way, the curtains drawn shut. The whole place stank like cheap sex, and even cheaper cologne; it was the kind of place that suited Leon well.

Two college boys, most likely belonging to some kind of Phi-Fucker-Shithead fraternity, sat down beside him, loudly exclaiming about the breast size of one of the girls and trying to decide who was going to attempt to take her home. They laughed, and Leon groaned; it was one of those meathead laughs. The kind that makes one wonder if their family tree actually branched out or if it was simply a bush.

A young woman, dyed lime green hair with bits of light blue, tanned skin, dark blue eyes, and negligible clothing, approached him. "Hey, handsome," she said lustfully, "you look lonely. You want Jade to keep you company?" Her tongue traced a line on her lipstick green lips.

Leon looked her up and down; she certainly was attractive and was most definitely his type. She had a beautiful face and a tight body. If she was a redhead he would have jumped at the opportunity. "How old are you, Jade?" He asked, drunkenly swaying on the stool.

"Old enough to show you a good time. Whaddaya say?" She breathed into his ear, pulling back and biting her bottom lip. She reached out and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him off his stool.

Leon pulled his hand away, taking another sip of his drink. "Sorry, kid. Go find someone else to take money from." He turned back towards the bar, finishing his drink in one quick motion.

There was a part of him that wanted a dance. A part that wanted to feel the warm, soft touch of a woman's hands on his body, to feel the compassion of someone who loved him, even if they were only doing it for the money. His body desperately ached for human contact, and not just the kind that he brought home every other night and gave them three minutes of what he referred to as 'Heaven'. He wanted more than just sex. But he had come to realize that that wasn't meant for him in this life. At least, not anymore.

"Hey, sexy," one of the frat boys called out beside him, "how about you come over here and give us both a dance?" He flashed a wad of cash. The two frat boys were the traditional, popped collar, backwards cap wearing, live-off-daddy's-money type frat boys.

Leon smirked into his empty glass. ' _Not smart, pal_.'

The girl walked over, her hips sashaying from side to side. "Well with all that money, how could I say no?" She breathed, biting her lower lip.

The two frat boys chuckled, letting out a simultaneous 'Awesome!' as they fist-bumped each other.

"50 bucks each, or 100 bucks each and we go somewhere more…private." She said, playfully biting her finger with a smile. The frat boys both looked disgusted.

"50 bucks!" One of them screeched, drawing unwanted attention towards them. "Bitch, you have to be fucking insane. Right, dude?"

"Yeah," the other screeched, his ego practically bursting out of his head like his muscles were through his pink polo shirt. "What do you think we are? Stupid?" He tapped his buddy on the chest. "This bitch thinks she can extort us!"

Jade crossed her arms over her dangerously close to spilling out chest. "Common rates, sweetheart. You wanna play, you gotta pay." She said, attempting to keep her cool as best she could.

Leon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Maybe you shouldn't have flashed that big wad of cash you jack-fuck…" He whispered.

"Fuck you say, old man?" Muscle-head #1 bellowed, jutting his chin out aggressively. Apparently Leon hadn't whispered so much as replied at a regular speaking volume. "You got something to say to me?" He said, snapping aggressively into Leon's ear.

Leon rolled his eyes, preferring to stare into his empty glass rather than look up at the steroid junkie before him. His hot breath reeked of booze and chicken wings and the million-dollar cologne he wore - which would have been a refreshing change to all the cheap stuff he smelled - was practically drowning him. There was a part of the old Leon that wanted to come back with a witty one-liner and have this creep blubbering and turning 1000 shades of red. But he didn't.

"No," Leon replied, his jaw clenching, "I didn't say anything." He felt the jock smile.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Muscle-head #1 said. "Hey, bartender, bring this old man a drink! He looks like he needs another one." He belted out over the screechy vocals of 'Girls, Girls, Girls' and ruffled Leon's hair.

The bartender looked down the bar and visibly sighed. "He's been cut off! He's been drinkin' doubles all night." He called back.

The frat boy held up two, one hundred dollar bills. "It's on me!" He replied, slapping the money on the table. The bartender came by and picked them up reluctantly, eyeing Leon warily. Leon shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand meekly, a grin on his face.

Jade uncrossed her arms and put them on her hips, popping one slightly. "Do you want a dance or not, boys?" Her temper clearly wearing thin.

Muscle-head #1 & #2 had a look of disdain on their face; clearly they were not used to being challenged, especially by a member of the opposite sex. Muscle-head #1 stood off the stool; he was big. "Yeah, I want a dance. But you're gonna give one to me for free!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm. "How do you like that? Huh, bitch?"

Jade pulled at his grip. "Let go! Security!" She called out. Almost immediately, two large men appeared near her. "Let go!" She yelled, gripping the hand that held her and digging her nails into him. The jock gripped tighter; with the watermelon sized hands he had, it wouldn't take much to tear the little girl's arm off.

The bouncers moved to pry him off her. "You know who I am? You put a hand on me and my dad'll have your jobs! He owns this club!" The jock threatened. His buddy remained on the stool, laughing heartily at the threat and the apparent fear and pain in Jade's eyes.

The bouncers backed of, fearing the threat of this kid's daddy coming down on them. Leon turned around on his stool; he had heard enough and the alcohol was making him feel adventurous tonight. "Hey, jack-fuck," Leon said, reclining calmly against the bar, his drink in hand "why don't you get your big meat-hands off the talent and go play with your boyfriend behind the dumpsters out back."

The jock practically exploded; he was clearly used to being the alpha male in confrontations. "What the fuck did you say to me!?" He growled, letting go of Jade and taking a big step in front of Leon; He was a big boy, that was for sure.

"You heard me. Or are your muscles clogging your ears?" Leon replied, finishing his drink in one big draw. He stared up at the man, his eyes begging for him to take a swing.

The jock grabbed Leon by the collar of his black leather jacket, getting right in his face. "Listen here you little shit." The jock said. "You better fucking apologize or I swear to God you're gonna be drinking all your dinner through a-"

Leon cut him off, the hand that still held his glass connected with the jock's left temple, shattering into little pieces of glass shrapnel and dropping him like a bag of hammers. The jock's boyfriend, muscle-head #2, charged forward, looking for revenge for his stricken down lover. He threw a predictable left hook; Leon scouted it a mile away, easily ducking under it. He whirled around, meeting the new threat head on, face to face. A mist of alcohol and soda shot out of Leon's mouth, blinding #2. There was a part of Leon that was angry that he didn't finish the entire drink, but it was a small and easily ignored part. He threw a desperate right haymaker, trying to take Leon's head off; it didn't work.

Leon lowered his body and threw a vicious side kick directed at the midsection. He knew that he had been eating chicken wings and drinking beer all night, so that wasn't going to sit too well. Almost as if on cue, #2 fell to both his knees and started heaving. Leon smiled, almost malicious in nature. He pulled his right leg back, his hips turning on instinct, and fired. It impacted on the left side of #2's head, dropping his face to the dirty and VD laced carpet.

It was the bouncers turn now. One of them gripped Leon around the waist and lifted him off his feet. The crack of his broken nose was so loud the doorman outside could have heard it, as Leon rocketed his elbow behind him. Needless to say, the bouncer let go. Grabbing the bouncer's arm as Leon regained his footing, he turned his body and thrust his right hip into his waist. He kicked his foot back, tripping the bouncer and throwing him over his body and onto the ground. The remaining bouncer decided to try his luck, grabbing Leon by the arm and twisting it behind his back, forcing Leon to his knees.

Leon grunted as the bouncer torqued his arm violently. He heard him say something but it was all a blur at that point. He kicked his leg behind him, finding purchase directly on the kneecap of the bouncer. The knee folded backwards, the bouncer howled in pain and instantly let go of Leon's arm to grip at his own knee. Leon stood to his full height, rolling his shoulder and wincing lightly. He turned around, driving his knee into the face of the more recent attacker, rendering him unconscious.

Leon's chest heaved in and out, his heart pounded to the beat of the music that still blared despite the violence occurring. Nobody seemed to notice and it was probably for the best anyway. He was brought back into reality by a battle cry.

Leon turned around just in time to see his first opponent, muscle-head #1, the jock, bury his shoulder into his gut, shoving him back against the bar. The air evacuated his lungs, causing him to suck desperately . He drove his elbow down into the back of his opponent's neck not once, not twice, but three times; only then did the grip loosen. Leon let out a grunt, driving his knee into the face of the jock twice.

He risked stepping away, seeing no aggressive movement from his quarry. He let in more ragged breaths, wincing as he surveyed the carnage around him. Four targets down, Jade had taken off long ago, and the bartender was most likely hiding behind the bar after calling the cops.

"Freeze!" A deep voice commanded. Speak of the devil, right?

Leon looked over towards the door, where the voice came from. Four armed police officers stood, with guns drawn, ready to open fire should he make a move towards them. Another little part of him reared its ugly head but he quickly put a stop to it.

"Get down on your knees and put your hands on the back of your head!"

Leon looked over at his jock friend; it looked like he was in shock. Leon moved slowly, careful to not give the officers a reason to blow him away. He gripped the jock's wrist with his hand, holding it tightly. "Hey," Leon said.

The jock looked up at him, his face bruised and bloody; his nose clearly broken, his lip clearly split. "Fuck you, man." He managed out through his swollen lips and face. He spat blood on the ground.

Leon rolled his eyes. "I was going to say I'm sorry for all this, especially what I'm going to do next, but now," he said, twisting the jock's arm, his elbow facing upwards, "I _really_ couldn't give a shit."

"Just get the fuck out of-" The jock began, his words were cut off by his screams.

Leon brought his foot down hard on the elbow, shattering the bone and causing the jock's arm to bend at a disgusting angle with a sound that resembled wood splitting. The high-pitched screams of pain caused Leon's ears to sting.

The police officer's advanced on him, guns still drawn. Leon moved slowly, his arms held at equal height to his head. He dropped to his knees, interlocking his fingers behind his head; a grin stretched across his mouth.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" One of the officers asked, slapping the handcuffs on his wrists rather roughly.

Leon winced as one of the officers pulled him to his feet. "Nothing." He said, his grin still plastered on his face like a madman. "Just feels...good."


	2. Jailbreak

April 20th 2016, 0130, Washington, DC

* * *

Leon shifted his wrists uncomfortably, the metallic clinking of the cuffs amplified from the cold, empty, interrogation room. He dropped his hands below the table, bringing them out of view of anybody who might be sitting behind the one-way mirror. _"I could break my thumb, that'll get me out of here,"_ Leon spit-balled with a grin that quickly changed to a frown, _"but then I'll have a broken thumb and I'll be a fugitive. That's not an option…I like my thumbs."_

After being arrested from the strip-club for a bit of overzealous self-defence, he was tossed into a drunk tank to sober up, then thrown into a jail cell, in which he was quickly singled out by the resident tough guys. After leaving them battered and bruised, one of which was still unconscious, he was thrown in the room he currently stewed in. It felt like he had been in here for hours, but they had taken his watch and without a clock on any of the walls he had no idea. He raised his hands back up onto the table, yanking at the metal chain that anchored him to the equally cold, steel surface.

The door to the interrogation room burst open and two men walked in; both Caucasian, both in relatively good shape, one had brown hair cut close to the scalp and the other had no hair at all, both absolutely reeked of Detective. The bald man dropped a file folder the size of a small novel on the desk and sat down while the other man walked behind Leon's chair, gripping it tightly.

"My name is Detective Adams," the bald man said, "This is my partner, Detective Smith." He finished, gesturing to the man behind Leon.

Leon smirked. "Partner as in work partner or partner as in…" Leon trailed off, making an obscene gesture with the index finger of his right hand and the index and thumb of his left.

Adams sighed. "You're the joker type, aren't you?" He opened the file and flipped to a random page.

"Only on days that end in 'Y'." Leon smirked with a chuckle.

"Mr. Kennedy," Adams began, "there appears to be some," he paused, his lip curving up slightly, "some inconsistencies in the information that we dug up on you." He pushed the file towards Leon who took it hesitantly, eyeing the detective nervously.

He flicked through some of the pages. His driver's license picture was attached to the front of the folder, but other than the basic information that they had gained from him, with much difficulty he would add, there wasn't any background information on him. It looked like they had found his entire military record, but the entire thing was covered in black and red lines; only a select few dates and times were given.

"Care to explain?" Smith said, cracking his knuckles.

"I think it's quite simple what you're dealing with here, gentlemen. I'm a secret agent." He said mysteriously. When Leon had something to drink, his humor went from clever to damn near unbearable. With the right people around he was absolutely hilarious, but in his current position he was performing for a very, very tough crowd.

Adams rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "I'm just trying to figure out why half-" Leon cut him off.

"This definitely looks like more than half, boss." Leon chirped, flicking through more of the folder, letting out a surprised – yet somehow comical – breath.

Adams sighed again. "Fine," he growled, "I'm trying to figure out why your _entire_ file is shrouded in more mystery than Colonel Sanders's secret spices. I'm just here trying to get some answers as to why you put four innocent people in the hospital."

Leon opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by yelling in the hallway. Adams turned his head and Smith moved to check it out. _"That voice…I know that voice."_ He snapped back to reality. Smith had moved to the doorway, his hand inches away from the handle. "Detective, don't open that door!" Leon yelled out. Surprisingly, he stopped and looked at Leon. "You really don't want to go out there. She'll rip you to pieces. I will tell you absolutely anything you want, just please don't open that door!" He begged.

Adams scoffed. "Go check it out." He ordered.

Leon shrugged his shoulders. "I warned you…" He breathed out, shrugging his shoulders and stretching his neck, almost like he was getting ready for a fight.

Smith opened the door and immediately a brown haired woman, grey colored power-suit, high heels, and bronzed skin, exploded into the room. She shouted out various sections and paragraph numbers and just general nonsense that Leon didn't understand, but the Detectives did. They raised their hands up in a surrendering gesture, both of them uttering 'okay, okay!' over and over.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Leon asked. He hadn't seen this side of Hunnigan before. He knew she had a temper just from conversations in the past with newbies she had to supervise, but he had never seen the dragon in person before.

Hunnigan whirled on her heels to face him, a more irritated look on her face than actual anger. "Shut up and don't talk. Stop saying anything!"

Leon scoffed, attempting to raise his arms and display the universal sign for 'what the fuck?' but the short chain that he was on stopped him. "Blow me, bitch!" He yelled, his brow furrowing.

Leon watched Hunnigan's jaw tense up, her hand gripping the briefcase she carried; she refused to dignify his response with an answer. "Un-cuff him." She demanded.

"What? No! He's a danger to people around him; he broke one of my colleague's noses!" Adams barked back.

"I'm his lawyer, God dammit…" Hunnigan said. She struggled to hide the disdain in her voice. "It's in his best interests _NOT_ to harm me. Now un-cuff him or I'll have you charged with inmate endangerment." She demanded again.

Smith scoffed. "What do you mean 'inmate endangerment'!?" He shouted, moving to get in Hunnigan's face.

Hunnigan stared him down, not moving an inch. "Leash your dog, Detective. Before he says something that he might regret." She had to glance back at Leon who snorted and had to swallow a laugh.

Adams put a hand on Smith's shoulders, pulling him backwards. "Go get a coffee." He said quietly. Smith left the room, muttering something resembling 'that fucking bitch' under his breath.

"What was that?" Hunnigan called after him. Adams put a hand up to stop her.

"Alright. Just…relax, lady. Gimme a second." He said, trying to diffuse the hostile environment he had been dropped into. He walked over to Leon and produced a set of keys from his pocket.

"My name is Ingrid, not lady. You'd be well to remember that." She stated. "There better not be anyone behind that mirror either. Or so help me…" She trailed off.

"Just relax. There's nobody behind there. Not anymore at least." Adams said, quickly reassuring Hunnigan that they were doing everything by the book. He popped the cuffs off Leon and stowed them away in his pocket, quickly stepping away from him, afraid that he might take a swing at him. "I'll be right outside. Let me know if you need anything."

Hunnigan nodded. "I won't be long." She replied.

Adams left the room and Hunnigan let out a deep sigh. "You couldn't have picked a better time to get arrested, could you, Leon Kennedy?" She asked, trying to hide the rage in her voice and failing. She turned back to face Leon and sat down.

Leon rubbed his wrists, trying to get the red marks off his skin. "Sorry, Hunny, I'll make sure that I give you the heads up next time." He smirked, using his nickname for her; she hated it. Hunnigan glared up at him and removed her laptop from the briefcase.

"You aren't wearing your glasses. Did you get your eyes zapped?" He asked, trying to figure out what else was different about her.

"I don't much like the smell of my eyes being roasted. I switched to contacts." She replied, not looking up at Leon as she typed furiously on the computer.

The silence between the two of them was palpable; Leon was uncomfortable, Hunnigan not so much.

"So," Leon dragged on, "how's your love life been?" He asked, trying to start up a conversation.

"Not the time nor the place, Kennedy. And we haven't seen each other for, how long has it been now? Eight months? Or has it been nine?"

Leon chewed the inside of his cheek. "243 days. I've been keeping track."

"Right. And you choose to open with _that_ line after not seeing me for 243 days? Uh-uh."

Leon let his mouth curl into a grin. "So not great is what you're saying?"

"Fuck you."

"If you'd like?"

"I'm putting my ass on the line coming here for you." She said, taking a moment to glance up at him. "Helena is too."

Leon blinked rapidly, trying to understand what was just said. "What the hell are you doing here, Hunnigan? I thought the DSO would have told you to break all contact with me. I thought they would have disavowed me by now. And what does Helena have to do with anything!?" He said, crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a breath, causing his hair to flop up and down.

Hunnigan smirked. "I can't answer the latter part of your questions here, but I can answer the first half. They never said anything about associating with you; I guess they thought that I would be smarter than to seek you out. And they practically did. They sealed everything that ever mentioned you, burned any asset accounts that you might have accumulated, locked down any safe-houses and moved any supply caches that you might have known about. They didn't just throw you out into the cold, they buried you underneath the ice. You're lucky you even got any severance…" She said.

Leon rolled his eyes. "Okay, I get it, I fucked up. Don't remind me…" His mind wandered to Helena. What the hell did she want? She had jumped ship the second he walked into the director's office. And when he packed up what little he had on his desk, she was nowhere to be found; something about a recon mission in London. The only one who had even remotely tried to help him was Hunnigan and Sherry; the director must have gotten an earful from the younger woman after Leon walked out. Hunnigan and Leon hadn't spoken for several months, Helena and Sherry even less.

"So they think you're my lawyer?"

"Yup."

"But you're not?"

"Nope."

"Fucking hell…" He breathed.

"Done." Hunnigan stated triumphantly "With one more key press we should have you out of here in five minutes."

Leon cocked an eyebrow. "Who is 'we'?" He asked, his words laced with irritation.

Hunnigan bit her lip nervously. "The DSO." She admitted.

Leon's face flashed anger and he rose to his feet, so fast that the chair flew back against the wall. "Are you kidding me!? Oh, hell no!" He yelled out. "After all this, they want to bring me back in?" He slammed his hands down on the table, the metal loudly reverberating. He pointed his finger demandingly "You tell them that they can go fuck themselves!"

Hunnigan stood up, staring back at the door nervously. "Leon, calm down!" She whispered.

"Fucking fuck you, Hunnigan!" Leon shouted back. To say he was furious was an understatement. He started to pace, his hands running stressfully through his hair.

"With what happened tonight, coupled with who that kid was you nearly killed, you're going to die in prison. Maybe you'll get out early but I highly doubt that." She hissed.

"Then I'll get a lawyer; a _real_ lawyer." Leon snapped back at her.

"Good luck finding one that'll acquit you. The most they'll be able to do for you is _maybe_ get you out in 25 years! That means you'll get out roughly before your 65th birthday! And that's only _IF_ you don't kick anybody's teeth in." Hunnigan responded. Despite her explosion, her face softened. "Please, Leon. Look at your options." She begged.

Leon had to admit; she was right. He didn't want to, but she had him pretty tightly by his balls and not in the way he would have liked. "So my options are either sell my soul back to the DSO…"

"Or go to jail." Hunnigan finished.

"Or go to jail." Leon repeated. "What does the DSO want with me? They'd be retarded to let me back in." He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat, attempting to relax even a little bit.

Hunnigan shook her head. "I can't talk about that here. You're just going to have to trust me."

He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he let a breath out between them. Go to jail, or go back to work. To the average joe, the decision would have been simple. But the DSO wasn't an office job. "Fine," he said, looking less than impressed, "get me the hell out of here."

Hunnigan smiled, hitting a key on her laptop. "They should be back any minute with the required paperwork for the two of us to sign."

Leon cocked his head, motioning at her laptop. "What did you do?"

Hunnigan rubbed the back of her neck; Leon had never seen her this nervous before. "Nothing too extensive…" She trailed off.

"Hunnigan…" Leon dragged, suddenly fearing that he had just gotten himself into more trouble.

"Okay, okay. I just forged the President's signature and got him to sign an official pardon for you. It's not that big a deal."

Leon nearly fell over in his chair. "You did what!? Ingrid, what the hell are you thinking? You're smarter than this!"

Hunnigan swallowed visibly, chewing her lip. "We need you, Leon. Helena does too."

Leon lolled his head back in his seat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He was beginning to think he would rather take his chances with a public defender…


	3. Castle of Glass

April 20th 2016, 0900, Washington, DC

* * *

Leon stepped out into the early morning sun, a duffel bag in one hand, and a spiked protein shake in the other. After Hunnigan had busted him out of jail and after she had driven him home, he got back to drinking. Needless to say, waking up this morning was not an easy task; he didn't even have time to eat breakfast. And anybody who knew him knew that a hungry Leon, was a grumpy Leon.

Hunnigan stood by the passenger side of her car; a black and chrome Mercedes S-class, dressed in her signature grey power-suit. "You're late." She called out to him, moving to open the passenger side door.

He winced as the sun reflected off the hood of her car and right into his eyes. "You forget that less than 12 hours ago I was drunk off my ass." Leon replied, holding his hand up to block the sun. "Nice car. Who'd you screw to afford it?" He smirked.

She tilted her sunglasses down and gave Leon an unimpressed look. "My social life." She bit back at him. "Get in. We've got a briefing in 45 minutes." She opened the door and walked back around to sit in the driver seat.

Leon threw his bag in the back and climbed into the front seat, shielding his eyes from the glaring summer sun. "What's this briefing about?" He asked as Hunnigan started up the car and drove off down the road. Some of his neighbors had taken notice of the black luxury sedan parked outside his quiet, suburban home and they were unsuccessfully staring out their windows from behind shut blinds and curtains. _"Most interesting thing they've probably seen all year."_ He thought to himself.

Hunnigan turned a corner rather sharply and checked her rear view mirror. "I can't tell you about it here. But if all goes smoothly, and please, Leon, I hope you're on your best behavior, you'll be reinstated as an agent of the DSO." She took another corner incredibly sharp, again checking her mirror.

Leon felt his stomach churn; maybe it was a good idea he didn't have breakfast. "And if I don't want to be an agent?" He asked, closing his eyes and trying to get over the feeling of nausea.

"Then you'll go back to rot in jail." Hunnigan replied. She had said it as if it was no big deal; water off a ducks back.

Leon clenched his jaw. "Fair point. Guess you've got me by the balls then, huh?" He said in his infamous Kennedy sarcasm.

Hunnigan rolled her eyes, accelerating to beat an almost red light. "You can keep those to yourself, Kennedy." Leon could swear that he saw her blush.

"Last night you mentioned that jock I beat up. Who was he? Was he someone special?" Leon asked, genuinely curious. After the beat-down he gave that jack-fuck last night, he wouldn't be throwing a spiral any time soon.

Hunnigan chewed her lip. "That jock is the son of Francisco Delfino."

Leon rubbed his chin, propping it up with his hand as he stared out the window, the lane lines becoming very interesting. "Delfino…" He said quietly. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

A sigh slid out of Hunnigan's lips. "You don't pay attention to the news much, do you? Francisco Delfino is a big player in the drug business; his cartel traffics in more heroin to DC than anyone else. I'd imagine that after you shattered his son's arm, he's got a bone to pick with you. Pun not intended."

"Oops." Leon said, chuckling lightly.

The two mostly sat in an awkward silence before Leon finally broke it. "Why aren't you behind a desk right now? That's been bugging me since I saw you last night." He turned the air conditioning up and leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink.

"You trust me. Or at least I think you do, and if you don't you should. If the DSO had sent another agent to come retrieve you last night, you either would have turned them down, or you would have probably killed them. They believed that by sending me, given our prior," she paused, mulling the words over in her head, "relationship, you and I have an emotional connection." She explained, slowing the car down.

The glass and steel behemoth of a building that was the DSO headquarters towered before them. Hunnigan pulled up to the front gate and flashed her ID badge. The barricade arm lifted and she drove through; both men at the station gave Leon an odd look. Hunnigan pulled the car into the parking lot and killed the engine.

"We're here." She said, stepping out of the car and grabbing her briefcase and Leon's duffel from the back seat. "Never thought you'd see this place again, did you?" She asked.

Leon snorted, taking another long drink as he grabbed his bag from Hunnigan. "Thanks. If I saw the interior of this place again it would have been too soon. 35 floors of straight fun." He chuckled.

"It's 45 now. Five floors above and five floors below."

"What the hell for?"

"We've had to expand our office since you left. We're recruiting not just from the United States anymore. We've expanded our range to Joint Task Force 2 in Canada, the GSG-9 of Germany, Spetsnaz, British SAS, and the French Foreign Legion." Hunnigan explained.

"Yeah, I remember hearing about that. That ruffled more than a few feathers. People started thinking that America was taking over the world." Leon said.

Hunnigan sighed. "People who haven't experienced bioterrorism first hand like we have don't seem to understand what we're trying to do. The DSO isn't trying to take over the world, we're trying to save it."

Leon took another long swig of his drink, feeling the burn of vodka mixed with chocolate flavoring cascade down his throat. "I hate to ask, but how's Sherry been?"

Hunnigan's heels clicked on the hot asphalt parking lot. "She's turned into quite the agent since your departure. She's got the highest test scores, highest score on the firing range, absolute flawless record fooling a lie detector. I'd say the only agent even close to her has been-"

"Me." Leon cut her off, taking the moment to either stroke his own ego or complete the sentence out of embarrassment.

Hunnigan paused, a cross between a grim and a scowl appearing on her face. "No. Helena." She finished. She knew Leon probably didn't want to hear that, seeing as how the two left things, but it was the truth. Both Helena and Sherry had stepped their games up exponentially after Leon had left.

Leon's hint of a smile faded. "Oh." He said simply.

The two of the reached the front door. Hunnigan stood in the way. "Ditch it." She said, gesturing with her head to a garbage can beside the door.

Leon looked confused. "What?" He questioned, taking another drink.

Hunnigan crossed her arms and cocked her hip. "Don't think I'm stupid, Leon. I can smell the booze from here. I'm not having you get gooned during your first day back. Ditch it." She said again.

The two of them stared at each other, neither of them backing down. Finally, Leon spiked the bottle into the garbage; he wouldn't admit it to anybody but Hunnigan scared him sometimes. "You owe me." He said, his nose twitching.

"I busted you out of jail. _You_ owe me. Consider it day one of your sobriety."

Hunnigan pressed her badge against the reader on the front door and it clicked open. They entered into a large, circular atrium that took up at least four or five floors. A gigantic glass skylight allowed the sun's natural light to flow in. Behind the glass that surrounded them, Leon could see people working at their desks The amount of glass and metal was staggering.

A large, circular desk sat in the middle of the area, a group of two men and a woman sat typing away at their computer screens. Leon watched as the man looked up, his jaw hanging slack as he tapped one of the women on the shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Leon.

Leon ducked his head down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is there anybody in this building who doesn't know I am?" He asked quietly.

Hunnigan smirked. "Maybe. But we won't be seeing them today. Where we're going, everybody knows your name." Her heels clicked on the marble floor, sending reverberations of sound bouncing everywhere.

"Does it happen to be a bar?" Leon asked her. He wasn't sure if she was trying to make a joke or if she had made the reference unintentionally.

They walked past the desk and down a small hallway, away from the atrium, towards a set of elevators. Hunnigan pressed her badge into a keypad and typed in '38'.

"Ingrid," Leon started, "I've been meaning to ask you two questions since we saw each other last night." He could _feel_ her eyes roll behind her sunglasses.

"Yes, I'm still single. Yes, you're still attractive. Is that all?"

Leon felt a laugh catch in his throat, a smile crossed his face as he let it free.

"Those weren't your questions…" Hunnigan said, clearly embarrassed.

"Nope. But thanks for letting me know you still care." Leon replied. He glanced over at her and caught her bronzed cheeks burning; he grinned. "How did you know where I was last night?" He asked

Hunnigan cleared her throat, trying to climb out of the hole she had just jumped into. "Let's just say that a police scanner goes a long way in this business. And military satellites. What's your other question?"

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, a slew of people in business suits spilling out. A couple of them gave Leon a surprised look but other than that they said nothing. Hunnigan and Leon both stepped into the car and the doors closed. Their legs bent ever so slightly as the car lurched upwards.

"Did you cover up my file? Like after I left, did you redact everything that I had done? The entirety of my military record is dark." He said, his brow furrowing.

Hunnigan let out a sigh and removed her sunglasses, looking into Leon's eyes. "I never stopped caring about you, Leon. What happened wasn't your fault and you got punished unjustly for it. I covered everything up to protect you, in case anyone tried to find you." She swallowed the small lump that had started to form in her throat. "You should know that I fought as hard as I could to try and keep you here."

Leon looked away, focusing intently on the glowing green floor numbers. 27...28…29…30. "I let _my_ emotions get in _my_ way and it cost us the mission. Everything that happened _was_ my fault." He said darkly, his lip and nose twitching rapidly.

Hunnigan slowly reached down and her hand gently brushed against Leon's, her index finger hooking his pinky and ring finger, trying to pull his hand into hers. The elevator dinged and the doors started to open.

Leon let out an exasperated breath and yanked his hand away quickly. "Let's just get this over with, okay?" He said, refusing to look at her. He stepped out of the elevator and into a very busy office area.

Hunnigan, initially hurt by Leon's sudden revulsion of her touch, took a deep breath and followed out behind him. "Come on," she said, walking ahead of him, "the briefing room is this way. Hopefully they haven't decided to start early."


	4. Return of the Phantom Stranger

April 20th 2016, 0945, Washington, DC

Stepping into the office space of the D.S.O was like stepping into a whole new building. None of what he saw was familiar and, he wouldn't let anyone in on it, but it made him slightly anxious. Gone was the bleached white paint on the walls and ceiling, gone was the hideous fluorescent lights that made his eyes burn, instead replaced by a cool grey color and cool LED lighting. The carpet was changed to a slate black, giving the whole office a very modern and professional feel to it. Cubicles sat position out of the main walkway, and the sound of lightning-fast fingers typing away on keyboards filled the room. It reminded Leon of the police station he trained at.

"This way, Leon." Hunnigan said, ushering him down the long hallway.

Leon followed after her, still in awe of all the changes that had taken place. "Does the whole building now look like this?" He asked her, cocking his eyebrow slightly while trying to even remotely fathom the cost of such an endeavor.

Hunnigan nodded. "Yeah. The director ordered a complete overhaul of HQ after they constructed the new floors. I can't emphasize what a pain it was trying to get any work done while the sound of grinders and welders and boisterous construction men were here." Hunnigan vented, her hands clutched into fists and her head shaking rapidly for a couple of seconds.

"Do you still use the old command center? You know, the one that looked like it was an evil lair?" He asked. A group of men and women walked past them, only a couple of them giving him 'the eye'. It made him uncomfortable.

"We've upgraded since then. I was getting tired of having to reroute all the computers through IP filters and enough VPN's to accommodate a small country." Hunnigan replied.

"They still haven't hired anybody to facilitate tech-support full-time?"

"Nope."

The two of them came to a steel, reinforced door; a key-reader was imbedded to the wall on the left. Hunnigan tapped her badge on the reader, it beeping in approval with a loud 'click'. The two of them walked through into another hallway, this one completely unpainted and uncarpeted. The whole hallway was made of glass, or what appeared to be glass. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, all of it was glass. Behind the panes of glass were bright LED lights that made the hallway seem never-ending aside from another solid steel door opposite the one they had just walked through.

"This is…odd." Leon breathed quietly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and quickly looked away. He looked like he hadn't slept in several days; he had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was scruffy in places and he had a thin layer of shadow on his face. He would have looked homeless if it wasn't for the expensive leather jacket, designer jeans, and several hundred dollar boots; those just made him look like a grizzled vet.

Hunnigan's heels clicked on the glass floor, sending echoes bouncing up and down the hallway. "It's a scanner," Hunnigan stated, turning around to face Leon and gesturing to the walls, "it scans the person's body and checks for any weapons or out of place materials."

Leon cocked his head to the side. "Out of place materials?"

Hunnigan let out a breath that served more as a laugh than anything. "Bombs." She said plainly. "The CIA have been using tech like this for the better part of a decade. Let's just say it was worth the money."

"What about ours? How well has it worked out?" He said. He realized he referred to the DSO as 'ours', as if he was part of the family again. It felt strange, a foreign word on his tongue. He never thought that he would utter those words again.

"I took the liberty of adapting some tech from the BSAA that scans for any sign of viral infection; theirs is a handheld version, ours in 100 times that size. If the person is infected, they are sedated and taken to quarantine." Hunnigan explained, turning back around.

"What happens once they're there?" Leon asked. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"They are dealt with accordingly depending on the severity of the infection." Hunnigan replied. Leon knew that meant the infected would be incinerated if they were too far gone; DSO protocols hadn't changed much.

They came to the door at the end of the hallway, solid metal in construction and looking more like it belonged in a Star Wars movie than an office building. A keypad was installed next to it, but no visible keypad or reader, just a small, finger sized hole.

Hunnigan turned to Leon. "Behind this door is the heart and soul of the DSO, Leon. All the operations that are currently underway are controlled from this very room. No matter what happens today, you can't tell anybody about what goes on in this room, not even the people in this building." She explained.

Leon nodded. "Standard operating procedure, I get it." He grinned. "Does it still look like something out of a James Bond movie?" He asked.

Hunnigan placed her thumb into the hole. There was a mechanical noise, followed by a beep. She winced, removing her thumb and shaking it slightly in pain.

 _"Welcome, Ingrid Hunnigan."_ A computerized voice announced.

"Not quite," She replied as the door let out a series of heavy metallic whirs and clicks, "welcome to The Pit."

The door 'whooshed' upwards and the two of them stepped inside. The room was a lot like a university classroom; coliseum like seating occupied by focused tech agents wearing headsets and typing away on computers, stairs led down to a central area that would traditionally be used for teaching, was instead a collection of computer screens and a collection of wires that resembled more of a spider-web than any sort of organization. The room was brighter than one would expect despite the minimal lighting, instead being lit by the vast number of computer screens. And despite the number of computer terminals burning away, the room was quite crisp. Leon felt a chill run up him and slowly dissipate.

"Fancy." Leon said, taking everything in piece by piece.

Hunnigan smirked. "It better be. It was built to my specifications."

"I thought there was some similarities to your old work station; those wires look very familiar." Leon quipped, pointing to the mess of spaghetti in the center.

He heard Hunnigan growl softly in her throat. "It's an occupational hazard…"

Hunnigan started down the stairs, gesturing for Leon to follow her. It seemed that Leon's footsteps were ten times louder than Hunnigan's, because the second his boot made contact with the concrete steps, every eye in the room was on him. Leon kept his eyes locked on the bottom step, trying not to make eye contact with any and everyone who was currently looking.

Hunnigan glanced over her shoulder at him, giving him a smile that should have reassured him. It didn't. If anything, it made him feel even more self-conscious. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs; Leon let out a breath.

Hunnigan stepped forward, clearing her throat. "Sir?" She said. "I've selected an agent for the NK operation. He's ready to be briefed." Leon watched her hand grip her briefcase tighter, her knuckles whitening.

A middle aged man, athletic build, side-parted brown hair, blue eyes, and a greying beard in an expensive looking suit looked up from an Ipad. For a moment, he was slack-jawed; it was as if he'd seen a ghost. His mouth slowly curled into an upside down 'U', his brow creasing. The Ipad clattered at his feet, the sound bounding around the suddenly silent room.

Leon's face hardened, almost annoyed in nature. "Reporting for duty," he ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, "director."


	5. Back in the Saddle

April 20th 2016, 1015, Washington, DC

* * *

The director slammed his hands down on his desk. "Goddammit, Agent Hunnigan, give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you right now." He exclaimed angrily.

The "charming" reunion had gone over about as well as Leon had thought it would. In fact, it had probably gone over worse than he could have imagined. The director had ordered him and Hunnigan into his office after not-so-privately dressing them down in front of every agent in The Pit; Leon had learned that the agents who served in The Pit were affectionately called "Pit Crew". He had half a mind to walk out of the building and go back to getting blitzed by his lonesome, but Hunnigan had busted him out of jail, and put her career, not to mention her freedom, on the line for him. So he owed her that much.

"Sir, If I can explain," Hunnigan started, calmly trying to diffuse the situation.

"You better start doing something." The director shot back. "I entrusted you with the personnel selection of this mission. I didn't expect you to bring back Leon goddamn Kennedy." He said slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Leon cleared his throat. "It's Scott." He replied.

The director looked over at him, practically fuming at the act of insubordination. "I'll get to you later, Kennedy." He spat, returning his gaze to Hunnigan.

Ingrid placed a hand on Leon's shoulder. "Just…be quiet, okay?" She asked quietly, stepping in front of him.

Leon shrugged, turning his gaze to the floor like a small child being scolded by a parent. "I just wanted to make sure he knew going forward…" He mumbled quietly.

"Director Mansfield," Hunnigan began, "I selected agent," she was cut off.

" _Former_ Agent." The director corrected.

"I selected _former_ Agent Kennedy for this operation based on his overall knowledge of the area, his personal relationship with both members of the team; Agent Sherry Birkin and Agent Helena Harper. He knows exactly what they are capable of, he knows their strengths and weaknesses, and he has a working history with both of them." Hunnigan explained, her posture stiffening.

Leon perked up, both positively and negatively at the dropped names. On one hand, he would be happy to see Sherry again. And on the other, he would have liked to give Helena a swift kick in the jaw and demand some answers from her. His mouth opened in protest but he held his tongue.

The director rubbed his eyes, glancing over at the decanter of scotch and selection of glasses set upon a small desk against his wall. "I should demote you, Agent Hunnigan. Hell, I should outright fire you for bringing a civilian, albeit a highly trained one, into our ops. room." He growled.

"But you're not going to, sir." Hunnigan replied. Her response was not a question, but a statement. Behind her, Leon remained silent, but his eyes widened as Hunnigan called the man's bluff.

Mansfield's face turned red, having just been called out. "Normally I put up with your insubordinate behavior, but this is too much. I'm not going to fire you, Ingrid, you're too valuable to lose." He snapped, realizing that, yes, Ingrid Hunnigan was at the top of her class in pretty much every class she took. He bridged his fingers in front of his face, staring intently at something invisible.

Hunnigan dared to speak. "But, sir?" She asked; clearly there was going to be repercussions for her actions today. And the night before.

"I want to fire you," Mansfield said, "I should fire you. After what you pulled today you deserve no less. I can't let people think that this is acceptable behavior; it makes me look weak if I don't dole out punishment."

Leon piped up. "If I may, sir," he started, quickly getting cut off by Mansfield's gravelly voice.

"Quiet, Kennedy. I'll get to you in a moment." He said, never looking away from Hunnigan. He dropped his head and let out a long, deep sigh, mumbling something under his breath; neither of them could decipher it. He started typing away on his keyboard, continuously shaking his head side to side. His printed hummed to life and spat out a piece of paper. "From this moment until otherwise stated, Agent Ingrid Francine Hunnigan, you are suspended."

Leon heard the ever-so-silent hitch in her breath. Leon had to swallow his own. "Mansfield, don't take it out on her, I was the one who called her from jail. She's got a good career going for her." He said, trying to make it sound like he wasn't begging.

Hunnigan held her hand up, silencing Leon. She raised her head, stiffened her posture. She nodded. "I understand, sir. I'm sorry that I let you down." There was something in her voice, something broken.

The printer on Mansfield's desk croaked and hummed to life, spitting out two pieces of paper. He leveled them on his desk and scrawled something on them. Judging by the rapid movement of his fountain pen, he was signing something. He pushed the papers towards Leon, along with the pen. "Sign it." He demanded.

Leon tilted his head curiously, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, his eyes skimming over the papers.

"Against my better judgement," he started, "I'm offering you full reinstatement. Normally I'd be less…persuadable. But we're in a lot of trouble, Leon. And as much as I'd hate to admit it, we need your help." Mansfield said, leaning back in his chair, less in a relaxing manner more a stressful one.

Leon flicked his chin towards Mansfield. "What do you mean 'trouble?'"

Mansfield took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "Three weeks ago we heard a rumor that the Russians had supplied North Korea with access to Biological Weapons. With all the recent sabre rattling that's been going on between them and the United States, it was too dangerous to discredit." He stood up, walking over to the mini-bar that was in his office. He pulled the top off the elaborate glass decanter and poured himself a large, larger than normal, glass of scotch.

Leon opened his mouth, his jaw hanging slack in knowing astonishment, disappointment, and anger. "Don't tell me…" He trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Helena volunteered to infiltrate North Korea and investigate the claims. It was supposed to be a quick operation; no more than five days in the country. But there was a complication."

Leon groaned, his teeth grinding together. "But its North Korea, Mansfield, there's the complication! You sent a Caucasian female – one who isn't even 30 I might add – into one of the most inhospitable places on the planet and one of the US's strongest enemies at that. What the hell were you thinking?"

Mansfield's face twitched. "Didn't you hear me? She volunteered, Leon."

"And yet you still allowed her to go. Wasn't there anyone else you could have sent?"

Mansfield tipped the glass to his lips; tilting it back all the way and swallowing the alcohol in one go. "Yes, Leon, there _was_ someone else I could have sent. But _he_ is probably the reason that we're in this mess."

Leon took an aggressive step forward. "Oh, fuck you. Don't blame this shit on me, you son of a bitch."

Mansfield took a step towards Leon, both of them looking like they wanted things to get heated. Hunnigan stepped in. She dropped her briefcase, hurrying between the two men. "Hey!" She yelled out, placing a hand on both their chests, trying to push them away from each other. "This doesn't help Helena. Stow it, now." She yelled.

Leon looked down at the hand on his chest and gripped her wrist with his own hand. He glared up at Mansfield and suppressed the urge to clock him in the jaw. "You said there was a complication. What was it?" He asked, nearly growling. He took two steps backward, unhappy that he was forced to back down.

Mansfield straightened himself and nodded to Hunnigan, pouring another glass of scotch he walked back to his desk. "We had a contact in country, someone who was sympathetic to our mission. In exchange for safe passage for him and his family out of North Korea, he would help us locate the BOW's. That was two and a half weeks ago. As far as we know, Helena was captured and taken prisoner. Or worse."

Chairs were thankfully provided for both him and Hunnigan, he took the liberty of plopping himself in one quite heavily. He rubbed his eyes. "And you can't exactly check in with home when everything coming in or going out is being monitored." He sighed. "What's her status?" Leon asked.

Mansfield bridged his fingers in front of him. "Currently she's MIA, but any longer without contact and we'll be forced to classify her as KIA."

Leon scoffed and shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It's not my decision, Leon. It's the United States Government's call. Contrary to what most people think, we aren't an independently controlled division; even I have a boss I have to report to." Mansfield explained, taking another sip of scotch.

Leon pulled the papers that were on the desk into his hands, glancing over them. "So you want me to come back, swoop in, and save the day, huh?" He said calmly. Without looking up, Leon could hear Mansfield's eyes roll.

"No. I want you to assist Agent Birkin in locating and rescuing Agent Harper." His mouth drew thin. "If she's still alive."

Leon glanced up at him. "She's still alive. If I know anything about Helena, it's that she's tough as nails. We'll find her and bring her home." He reached out and grabbed the Director's fountain pen, hovering it over the papers in his hand. "On one condition." Leon said, staring down Mansfield.

"What?" He responded, trying to hide his astonishment and his annoyance.

"Unsuspend Hunnigan." Leon said plainly.

Mansfield was taken back. "What? I can't-"

"You want Helena back; you give me Hunnigan." He looked over at her. "She knows me, and I know her. She can keep up with how I work, she knows what to tell me and what not to tell me. I don't want to go into a country that wants to shoot me on sight and have some rookie babbling in my ear about procedures and protocols. You give me Ingrid or I walk." He demanded.

Hunnigan stepped forward. "Leon…" She trailed off. "You'll go to prison if you leave."

"I don't care. You're suspended because of me. If me going to jail will get you your career back, then so be it." Leon replied.

Mansfield's face twitched again. "You overestimate your value to this organization, Leon Kennedy."

Leon cocked his head. "Really? Who else do you have who can bullseye a target at 1200 yards? I've thrown the hand-to-hand instructor around like he was a child, aced the deception exam, and completed the obstacle course in record time. Face the facts, Mansfield, I'm the best you've got." He grinned again. "Aside from Sherry and Helena, of course."

Mansfield grit his teeth. "I don't need you, Leon. Agent Birkin is more than qualified-"

"You send her in there alone, you'll have two agents who are MIA. All I'm asking is that you give me my girl." Leon said, a small grin crossing his lips. Hunnigan's cheeks flushed red.

Mansfield frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Fine." He growled. "But on one condition."

Leon shrugged. "Name it."

"I'm requiring you to go through the same exams that we give to all new recruits. Shouldn't be too hard for someone of your skill."

Leon smiled. "Done." He picked up the pen and scrawled his signature on the paper.

Behind him, Hunnigan tried to hide a warm smile, but failed. She placed her hand up to her cheek to hide her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Agent Kennedy," she stated, "come with me and I'll show you to the training area. I think you'll find that it's a little different than you remember."


	6. Hair of the Dog

December 23rd 2014, 1900, Washington, DC

* * *

The fitness room in the DSO Headquarters was probably one of the busiest rooms in the entire building, aside from maybe the shooting range and the cafeteria. But at 7:00 on a Tuesday, the day before Christmas, the place was deader than a zombie. The eerie silence was broken by the sound of leather gloves striking synthetic fabric.

Sweat dribbled down Leon's brow and dripped into the growing pool at his bare feet. Each punch was followed by a sharp breath, almost like a hissing noise. His onslaught continued as he tried desperately to beat whatever non-existent information the bag had out of it. His muscles were sore, each punch sent shockwaves of pain up his arms. Leon grunted as he threw two more punches at the bag. His hips twisted, spinning his body 360 degrees as he pivoted on the ball of his left foot. His shin struck the bag, sending it sliding along it's track in the ceiling a good ten feet.

His chest heaved in and he propped his hands up on his knees; sweat coated the front of his black compression shirt, turning it an even darker shade. Leon stood up, rolling his shoulders and cranking his neck, causing it to crack loudly. He sat down on a nearby bench, undoing both of his gloves, the telltale sound of Velcro bouncing off the walls and ceiling. He dropped both into his duffel bag and cracked the top of his water bottle, taking a long drink.

"I thought I might find you here." A familiar female voice said.

Leon turned his head, placing the bottle beside him. "You're a little too dressed up to be working out." He said, smiling lightly as he stood back up and laid down on a nearby bench press.

Helena had walked in wearing a _very_ sexy black cocktail dress that accentuated her long legs; and the sheer halter neckline was doing wonders for another part of her body. Her black high heels clicked on the laminated concrete floor. "I take it you aren't coming to the company Christmas party?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest disappointingly.

Leon lifted the bar off the rack and rep'd it. "Nah, I don't like Christmas." He grunted, breathing out slowly.

Helena moved to spot him, placing her hands gently on the bar. "I didn't ask about Christmas. I asked about the party. You don't have to enjoy Christmas to come out to a company party." Her eyes held at Leon's chest, then drifted to his abdomen, then back up to his arms; her heart fluttered in her chest.

Leon grunted again, placing the bar back on the rack as he rested. He took a deep breath in, smelling Helena's perfume; a combination of strawberry and vanilla. It wasn't too strong, it was nice. He exhaled, sitting back up. "It's still a _Christmas_ party. I'll pass." Leon stated, getting his breathing under control.

Helena grinned. "So what you're saying is I'll have to look elsewhere for a date?" She said with a chuckle.

"I'm not much fun at parties, Helena." Leon said, wiping underneath and the back of his neck with a towel, purposely avoiding the question. He walked back over to his duffel, Helena in tow.

"Leon, I need arm candy." Helena admitted. "I need someone who is equally as good looking as me, to stand beside me the entire night and make me look even better."

Leon turned around, cocking an eyebrow at her. "How old are you?" He said, sitting back down on the bench. He took another long drink of water. "Last time I checked, we were both adults, not in high-school."

Helena frowned. "We're partners, Leon. We should be able to help each other in times of need." She responded, sitting down next to him and crossing her legs.

Leon shook his head dismissively and smiled. "Yeah, if we're under fire I expect you to help me, and vice versa. But I don't really think this qualifies as a 'time of need'." He explained. "What about that guy from accounting?" He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name. "He's sweet on you, isn't he?"

She laughed. "Who? Kevin? Leon, no."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Leon asked, trying to be a gentleman and not stare at her exposed cleavage.

Helena's mouth grew thin. "I just watched you bench 275lbs. I'd think that Kevin has trouble lifting a file folder."

The two of them chuckled as Leon started unwrapping the fight tape from his hands. He dropped it beside him and flexed his hands; even though he wore gloves and taped his hands, they were still bruised.

"Ouch," Helena said, "you push yourself too hard." Helena quipped.

Leon shook his head. "Not really," he said, "I hardly feel it anymore. It's all about conditioning your body."

"No, I mean in general. In here, in the office, in the field; you're always trying to prove you're the best. Everybody knows that you are, you don't need to keep reminding them. Especially me." Helena said, uncrossing and crossing her legs the other way.

Leon glanced over at her. "I'm the best _because_ I push myself. There's no room in this organization for someone who isn't willing to give it 110%. Anything less than that," he paused, staring off at the floor then looking at Helena, "and that gets you killed."

Helena sighed. "You need to get out of work mode; it's not healthy." Her hand brushed Leon's, gently caressing his bruised knuckles. He pulled away slowly.

He didn't pull away because he was uncomfortable, quite the contrary in fact, he liked the way her hand had felt and was surprised at how soft it was considering she was in the gym and at the range almost as much as he was. "I don't have anything else besides my work. That was a sacrifice I made when I was in my 20's," Leon said, frowning, "and if I could go back and give my younger self one piece of advice it would be to not take the offer I was given." Leon said, his face twitching.

Helena's face softened, her black lined eyes showing genuine concern for her partner and friend. She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling his muscle tense, she squeezed back comfortingly. "But if you did that, we never would have met. And you wouldn't be blessed with my wonderful company." She joked, gently nudging him in the side. For once, she thought ahead on what she would say, purposely omitting the fact that the circumstances around them meeting were…not good, to say the least. She was rewarded with a small laugh.

Leon glanced over at her, their eyes locking for a moment. Without realizing it, his eyes glanced down to her lips. And then they did again. Leon shook his head, chuckling nervously. "When's the party?" Leon asked, sighing.

Helena smiled widely. "Are you saying you'll go?" She beamed.

Leon winced at her optimism. "I'm saying I'll go. I'm not saying I'll like it."

Helena hugged Leon tightly. "It's in an hour. Is that enough time to get you home and changed?" She inhaled the scent of his musk, closing her eyes and smiling at the familiarity of it all. She gripped his back affectionately, cringing as she felt how damp his shirt was. "But you need to shower before we go" She said, pulling away slowly. "You're all sweaty and gross."

Leon chuckled. "No shit, huh? You sure you don't want another hug?" He joked, spreading his arms again.

Helena held up both her hands, trying to fight him off. "I'm not going to tell you where, but I am armed. And if you touch me, and rub your sweat all over this dress on purpose, I'm going to use it on you."

Leon tried to think where Helena might be holding a firearm, as the dress was _much_ too short to allow a thigh holster. He shook the image from his mind and frowned again, standing up. "You can't wash it?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Helena tilted her head slyly. "Not if I want to return it tomorrow after the party."

Leon shook his head with a smile. "Alright, follow me home and then we'll take your car. I doubt you want to get on my bike and have your dress get all dirty."

* * *

December 23rd 2014, 1930, Washington, DC

* * *

Helena sauntered around Leon's cramped apartment, trying desperately not to snoop into the older man's private life. The sound of running water drifted out from the bedroom, the door being left partway open. Despite the size of his apartment, it was very clean. Leon was a methodical creature, but not so much so that he was a creature of habit, he had his moments of unpredictability. She brushed her hand over his oak coffee table, running it over the small stack of magazines and unopened mail that seemed disgustingly out of place. Her hand rested on a letter from a building company.

"When did you say your new place was finished?" She called out to him.

"Probably early next year. Like April-ish, I think." He called back. "Are you going through my mail?" He had a habit of preternaturally knowing why someone was asking a question.

Helena put the magazines and mail back to the way they were. "No." She lied. _'How does he do that?'_ She mused, shaking her head. She walked into his kitchen, her dark stockinged feet leaving condensation imprints on his equally dark, hardwood floor. She opened his fridge, surprised at the near emptiness of it. Aside from a jar of pickles, some mustard, and a carton of eggs, the only thing that interested her was a six pack of beer.

"There's beer in the fridge if you want some." She heard Leon yell out from the shower. Again, her mouth opened in amusement.

"Thanks." She said slowly with a smile. She pulled one of the bottles out and glanced around the spotless marble countertop for an opener.

"Third drawer down; left of the sink."

"Okay, you really need to stop doing that." She whispered to herself. Helena cracked the bottle open, dropping the cap in the garbage. The carbonated liquid felt good on her throat; Leon didn't buy cheap beer. She walked back into the living room and browsed his bookshelf. He didn't have much; Leon lived an incredibly minimalist lifestyle, which explained why his place was always so clean.

Much to Helena's surprise, his bookcase was full of the complete works from Poe, Lovecraft, Shakespeare, and other greats, as well as literally classics like 'Around the World in 80 Days', '1984', and 'Catcher in the Rye'. Her eyes passed over a small picture set in the tiniest frame possible; it looked like it had been taken in one of those mall photo-booths. It was of Leon and a woman she hadn't seen before, their faces twisted in joyful humor.

"Claire." Leon said from behind Helena.

Helena spun around, a gasp escaping her lips. Her cheeks flushed red and she nearly dropped her beer. Leon stood in front of her wearing only a towel, his hair plastered to his head and residual water dripped down his muscular torso. Her mouth hung open and she cleared her throat nervously as she turned her body to not be facing him. But she couldn't help herself, she did glance over at him; the image burned into her mind.

Leon snorted. "Sorry, didn't think you'd be so embarrassed." He walked back into his bedroom. "If anything it's me who should be flustered."

Helena smiled awkwardly. "Yeah, it's me who should exhibit more self-control." She breathed. She fanned herself with her hand and let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding as she tilted the bottle to her lips and killed it. She hurried back into the kitchen and pulled another beer from the fridge, popping it open and taking a mammoth sized gulp.

"Her name's Claire, she's an old friend from way back when." Leon called from the bedroom.

"I figured as much. You don't seem like the kind of guy to keep old pictures of ex-girlfriends around. When was it taken?" Helena replied, trying to change the subject quickly.

"She's not like that. She wanted to be, but I didn't. It wouldn't work between us."

Helena grinned. "Leon Kennedy: Heartbreaker?" There was a silence from the bedroom. "Leon?" Helena called back.

He emerged in the bedroom doorway, wearing a pair of fitted, black dress pants and fiddling with the cufflinks on an unbuttoned, black dress shirt. "All black?" He asked. "Or white shirt?"

Helena had difficulty answering, her eyes lingered at his chest then down to his stomach. "What?" She responded, snapping back to reality.

Leon smiled. "All black, or white shirt?" He repeated.

Helena smiled, taking another sip of the beer. "All black is good; contrast is overrated."

Much to Helena's displeasure, Leon proceeded to button up the shirt. He reached out of view and presented two ties, one red and the other white. "Which one?"

Helena stepped forward, looking at both closer. "White. The contrast is nice." She said, letting her fingers brush over the white tie. She sucked her bottom lip. Leon radiated heat off him, it was almost making her sweat.

"I thought you said that contrast was overrated?" Leon responded, grinning slightly. The smell of Helena's perfume was slightly duller now but equally as powerful on him. He took a discrete breath, wanting another taste of what she smelled like.

Helena reached up and instinctually played with a strand of her hair. "I didn't say I didn't like it." She breathed.

She realized how close she was to him at that moment. There were mere inches between the two of them, her head was nearly on his chest and he had placed a hand on her shoulder. "Well you're going to have to tie it for me, I can never remember how." He breathed back.

Helena took the tie without even thinking. "You have ties but you don't know how to tie them? She asked sheepishly. She threw the tie around his neck, feeling the warmth of his breath on her face; he had brushed his teeth as well.

Leon shrugged his shoulders. "I normally just look it up online and follow the instructions; I never really learned how." He was four inches taller than she was, his eyes focusing on her hairline. His face inched closer to the top of her head.

Helena looped the tie through and pulled it tight, making sure the length was long enough. She looked up at Leon, their eyes meeting. "Well that's…just…silly." She whispered, her face moving towards his.

Their lips met slowly, almost painfully slow. They both breathed in sharply through their noses and Leon reached around and pressed a hand against the small of Helena's back. Helena followed shortly after, her hands moving around to hook underneath Leon's arms. She let out a throaty moan and gripped his shirt tightly. Leon's hands slinked lower, brushing past her waist and resting on the curve of her behind. Helena again breathed in sharply.

Leon broke the kiss, taking a step away from Helena and looking at the floor. Helena had done the same. "I should really finish getting ready."

Helena brushed her hair past her ears, breathing heavily. "Yup, I think you should. You need any help in there? I think you go it under control, right?" She fumbled.

Leon shrugged his lips, giving her the thumbs up. "Oh, yeah. I got it from here. With what happened just now…" He trailed off.

Helena forcibly laughed nervously. "No idea what you're talking about, Kennedy."

Leon smiled, almost as awkwardly as Helena had. "Okay. I'll be out in, like, five minutes."

"Okay, I'll be here."

"There's beer in the fridge? Did I tell you that already?"

"Yeah, I've already had a couple."

"Well, feel free to have more. Like the whole case if you want."

"Yeah, I'm thinking about that."

Leon walked back into his bedroom and Helena retreated rapidly to the kitchen. She finished the rest of the beer on the way and she couldn't open a new one fast enough. Her lips tingled as she brought the bottle to them; kissing Leon was like kissing exposed wiring. Helena proceeded to demolish the rest of the beer in the fridge before the two of them awkwardly made their way into Helena's car and off to the hotel that their event was at.

* * *

A/N: Sad news to report. A coworker of mine unfortunately passed away this week, so it was a little tough to try and get this chapter finished. I'll be taking a little bit of time off, as life has gotten hectic again. Don't worry, however, I'll be back at it in a week. If I finish the next chapter early then I'll post it as per usual, but expect the next one to drop the first Saturday (or Sunday for some of you) in November. Remember to tell your family and friends that you love them, because you never know if you'll see them the next morning.

Peace, Guys.

J.

P.S: It was a tough decision on which song title to use on this one, but I think this one fits much better than the other one I had planned.


	7. Sometimes when We Touch

April 20th 2016, 1145, Washington, DC

* * *

The sound of automatic gunfire resounded through the DSO shooting range. The familiar bell-like sound of lead impacting steel was like music to Leon's ears. He ejected the magazine, the smell of burnt gunpowder wafting up into his nostrils. His muscles reacted without thinking, snatching the fresh magazine off the table in front of him and slamming it home into his rifle. He yanked the cocking lever back and leveled the sight with his eyes. The rifle belched fire, muffled explosions shook his chest, sending vibrations through his body. More bells sounded as his rounds landed on target.

He had been shooting for over an hour, and not by choice. Director Mansfield had ordered Leon, and he _could_ order him because he was now a full-fledged agent again, to undergo the same training that everyone chosen to enter the DSO had gone through.

Firing a gun was like riding a bike to Leon. Before his father had passed away when he was 18, they would go hunting for deer every season since he was 12. Granted, Leon never shot anything, but he had certainly _shot_ a lot. Cleaning, loading, firing a gun; it was all second nature to him. As such, he had turned his brain off after the first 25 minutes.

It was therapeutic, really; the sound of gunfire at a range. It was easy to tell who was a beginner and who was experienced; civilian shooters and law enforcement; nervous shooters and show offs. The muffled explosion of gunpowder, the kickback of the firearm, the satisfying sight of seeing the round go exactly where he wanted it to go, it was his calm. His zen.

His Feng Shui was broken by the sudden loud ringing of an alarm. Leon removed his finger from the trigger and placed the gun beside the empty magazines on the table. He removed his ear-plugs and draped them from the cord around his neck. He turned around, leaning against the cold, metal divider that separated his stall from the one beside him. "Is this up to your satisfaction?" He said.

Hunnigan had been watching the whole time, as had Mitch, the DSO armorer. Mitch was a younger man, square jawed and clean shaven, long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail, and wine colored eyes. He was quite thin, with shadowy details of muscle underneath his DSO emblazoned T-shirt. He would have been tall if it wasn't for the wheelchair.

Mitch wheeled himself forward. "Shoot, Mr. Kennedy," he said, his Tennessee accent drawling on 'shoot', "I reckon you just tied with Agent Birkin. What'd you think, Hun?"

Leon frowned, his mouth going thin and his brow becoming straight. "Well if it wasn't for her…" He mumbled.

Hunnigan stepped forward, her eyes glued to her Ipad as she tapped furiously on it. "Well you certainly haven't lost your touch, Leon. And here I was thinking you were out of practice." She tilted her head slightly, a grin crossing her face.

Leon crossed his arms. "Cute." He said. He reached behind him and grasped the rifle he had just been firing. "You've changed rifles since I've been gone." He said, removing the magazine and ejecting the lone round in the chamber and catching it in his hands. "Doesn't fire like a SIG." He eyed up the bullet in his hand; it was sharp, most likely an armor piercing round.

Mitch reached up and grabbed the rifle from him, placing it on his lap and pulling the lever back a few times to make sure the chamber was clear. "We bailed on SIG Sauer a couple of months ago. They got a little too big-headed and prissy when we asked them for special, DSO custom rifles. So, we switched over to FN America and never looked back."

Leon smiled. "I always thought that SIG's dealer was a little too posh." He rubbed his shoulder and one of the corners of his mouth turned up. "Little more kick than a traditional model, took me a couple magazines to get used to it."

Mitch rolled back to his arms room, gesturing Leon to follow him. "Traditionally, a five-five-six AP round is about 52 grain give or take. I requested that our rounds be loaded 65 grain; just to give 'em that extra 'oomph'. We've had issues with penetrating some of the more recent BOW's armor."

Leon blew a breath out. "That explains it," he said, "I noticed it's pretty light on the trigger too."

Mitch nodded. "I gave you a hair trigger model." He placed it on his table and wheeled over to a cabinet. He opened the double doors and revealed a smorgasbord of firearms. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, sub-machine guns; it was clear that Mitch was from the South. He pulled out a pistol and a rifle, handing the rifle to Leon. "This is our custom rifle; the FN-15 DSO. It's got a snap-cap in the chamber; no need to worry about ear-pro."

Leon shouldered the rifle, aiming it at the wall. It was a tactical M16 design, holo-sight with offset flip-ups, angled fore-grip, and shark brake. It was lighter than the one he had fired and not just because the magazine was missing. "Why is this one lighter? Aluminum design?"

Mitch smiled. "Steel design, carbon fiber barrel and receiver."

"No shit?"

"No shit." Mitch replied. "Give the rifle a little squeeze." He indicated with his fingers, smiling. "Just a little one."

He pulled the trigger lightly, hearing the unmistakable sound of the firing pin impacting the "primer" on the plastic dummy round. "Are all the rifles hair triggers?"

"Some are, we have a selection that aren't. Now give it a stronger squeeze, like you normally do."

Leon squeezed the trigger. He heard the pin impact the round, then heard it impact several times in rapid succession. He released the trigger, lowering the weapon. He grinned at Mitch, shaking his head in amusement. "Variable trigger; that's impressive. I was wondering why there was only a safety switch and a burst fire."

Mitch smiled, taking the rifle back and handing Leon the pistol. "FN Five-Seven. I've taken the liberty of changing the sights out for high-vis ones, the slide and handgrip have been replaced with carbon fibre. No hair-trigger on this one though." His face quickly changed to a panicked expression. "But I can add one if you like."

Leon pulled the trigger on the pistol, testing the pressure. "If I like?" He repeated.

Mitch nodded. "Yup. That's your new service weapon." He smiled. "Little bit better than your H&K's, huh?"

Leon's mouth shrugged. "It'll take some getting used to. The last time I shot one of these was back in '04. It was miles ahead of my Silver Ghost though." He racked the slide back, locking it in place and catching the plastic round as it leapt into the air.

Mitch handed him a magazine. "Five-seven rounds; design specifically to penetrate low levels of body armor. You shouldn't need more than one mag inside this building, right?"

Leon smacked the magazine into the weapon and snapped the slide forward. "Provided the rest of the day goes well." He grinned, tucking the weapon into the waistband of his jeans.

Hunnigan cleared her throat. "Are you boys finished yet?"

Mitch chuckled. "Sorry, Hunny-bear. Forgot you were here with us."

Leon swore that he saw Hunnigan's skin crawl.

"I need to get Leon to the gym for his physical fitness exam." Hunnigan said, tapping on her Ipad once more. "It's time to go, Leon." She said, moving to exiting the room.

Leon huffed, almost like a little kid getting denied something.

Mitch held his hand out in a fist. "Don't worry, Agent Kennedy, I'm not goin' _anywhere._ Come back when you've got some time and we can talk guns."

Leon smirked. "When I got time." He bumped him, having flashbacks to his time in the ESR. He turned to Hunnigan who was standing at the door, doing her best to hide her impatience. "Lead the way, Hunny." Leon said, still grinning.

Hunnigan shot Leon a death glare; she felt her entire body shiver from the tips of her freshly painted toes to the very top of her head. "Don't, Leon." She threatened.

They both moved through the concrete firing range, Hunnigan's heels clicking on the floor, followed by Leon's boots. Leon picked up his duffel bag and dropped his newly acquired weapon inside, double checking to make sure that the safety was on.

Hunnigan couldn't help but be entranced while Leon shot; there was something incredibly attractive about a man shooting a gun. Especially if that man was Leon. She prided herself on her self-control. Not eating McDonalds for breakfast, going to bed at a reasonable hour, and not having that extra scoop of ice-cream at dinner. But she couldn't help it that the small of her back was sweating. Nor could she deny that she had both nervously and unintentionally bit her lip more times in his presence than she had in the past month.

"Hunnigan?" She heard Leon say.

She looked over at him, thankful that her skin was a darker shade. "Uh-huh?" She said aloofly. She shook her head, trying to bring herself back into reality while simultaneously brushing strands of silky smooth hair out of her face. "We'll be going back to the surface for your fitness exam."

Leon scoffed. "Do I really need to take a fitness exam? Look at me." He said, gesturing to his body. He had a point; he was in phenomenally good shape. He was a drunk, but he was a productive drunk.

Hunnigan's body tightened. "Director's orders, Leon." She replied, dodging the question like Neo from 'The Matrix'. She pressed the elevator call button and the silence between the two of them, again, was excruciating. She fiddled with her thumb and index finger, subconsciously desiring to gouge her way to the bone. Hunnigan remained focused on the LED lighting, as she had done before.

"Hunnigan?" Leon spoke, his voice startling the younger woman. Hunnigan let out a sound of inquiry. "Could you stop that? It's gonna give me an aneurysm."

Hunnigan looked down at her foot; it had been tapping so fast it would have given a woodpecker competition. "Oh, sorry." She said, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly.

Leon looked back at the elevator, his eyes moving to look at the same LED lights that she had been. "You're normally so calm and collected. I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous." He said, slowly looking over at her from the corner of his eye. "I would think that my handler would be able to talk to me about what's bothering her."

Hunnigan smiled half-heartedly. "My problems or personal concerns are of no worry to you, Agent Kennedy." She said. It came out harsher than she would have liked. Unfortunately, she had a habit of doing that.

Leon raised his hands in surrender, a grin crossing his lips as he turned away. "Alright then. Let's keep things professional. It's not like things are going to be super awkward between us." His voice carried a joking tone.

Hunnigan wiggled her toes inside her shoes, praying to every god known to man that the elevator would hurry. She could feel her heart pounding against her breastbone, her mouth turned into a desert.

Leon chuckled quietly. "I mean, it isn't like we've seen each other naked or anything."

Hunnigan's throat grew tight and she coughed inconveniently. "Leon." She hissed, more out of surprise than actual anger.

Leon gave a faux sheepish smile. "And it isn't like we spent hours rolling around in bed, our bodies both heaving."

Hunnigan swallowed hard; it was dry. "Leon." She breathed, trying to compose herself. It failed. She gasped both in shock and satisfaction as she felt his arms wrap around her waist. "Leon…" She trailed, biting her lip to supress whatever sound was coming next.

"You remember what my favorite part was?" His mouth was dangerously close to her ear. She could feel his lips caress her earlobe. She moaned. Hunnigan could feel him smile.

"I remember how _loud_ you would be; you were a wild animal." He growled, nipping at her earlobe. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving electrifying kisses.

"Oh, Leon…" She moaned again, stretching her neck and giving him canvas to paint the picture of pleasure that he was _so_ good at.

"Hunnigan," He growled, "Hunnigan." He said again, this time louder.

"Leon," She moaned, reaching up and freeing her hair from it's tight bun. "Oh, Leon."

"Hunnigan." He said again, even louder.

Hunnigan's eyes snapped open, looking around panicked. She was still in Mitch's armory. Mitch and Leon were both staring at her, juvenile grins from ear-to-ear on their faces. She quickly reached up and rubbed her neck; no marks or any evidence that Leon had been there. She instinctively fingered the bridge of her nose, mentally backhanding herself when she realized she was wearing contacts.

Mitch chuckled. "You got a little something on your face there, Hunny." He said, gesturing to the right side of his mouth.

Hunnigan reached up and wiped away a thin river of drool that had started making it's way down her jaw. She slurped, a very unladylike gesture, and composed herself. Her cheeks flushed and she rapidly went to her Ipad to try and diffuse the awkward situation. She stuttered for the right words as her hands shook with adrenaline. "I need to get Leon to his physical fitness exam. Let's go, Leon." She said, standing up and exiting the room, knowing that he would follow.

Her heels clicked like rapid-fire on the concrete floor. She drove her thumb through her shirt into her forearm, reassuring herself that she wasn't dreaming. She reached the elevator at the end of yet another long hallway and pressed the call button. She hoped that the elevator would arrive just as Leon got there so she wouldn't be forced to sit through another awkward silence that she had in her dream.

The sound of Leon's boots rapidly approaching caused her heart to beat faster. Almost as if a godsend, the elevator arrived as he stopped beside her. Without saying anything, they both stepped into the elevator. She heard Leon chuckle beside her. "What?" She asked. She _hated_ it when Leon chuckled. Because it usually denoted that he knew something she didn't.

"Oh, Leon?" He said, smiling knowingly.

Now, Leon considered himself a tough individual, even willing to go so far and say that he was impervious to most forms of pain. But as the elevator door closed, the shot to the lower abdomen that he took from Hunnigan sent him to the floor so hard, that he thought he felt the elevator slow down.

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone. Glad to be back and unloading another chapter to you all. Not sure how I feel about this one though, would love to get some feedback on it. I know guns aren't everyone's forte, but I feel that Leon would have a pretty good appreciation for them and I felt that that was important to portray in this chapter. Anyway, everything is good on my end and I'm happy to be back writing.

See you all next week,

J.

Fun Fact: The gun that Leon uses in RE6 (his Wing Shooter) is the exact model of gun that he uses back in RE2.


	8. Right in Two

April 20th 2016, 1200, Washington, DC

* * *

Hunnigan was stone faced as Leon started to regain his footing. "That was oddly satisfying." She said, her face slowly upturning into a smile.

Leon groaned, holding his stomach as he rose to one knee. "Jesus Christ, Hunnigan. When and _how_ did you learn to hit so hard?" He asked, glancing up at her, pain in his eyes.

"Krav Maga classes. Some jackass got a little too handsy one night in a bar." She replied. "Helena talked me into it."

Leon regained his footing, brushing himself off. He managed to hide the vicious frown on his face, much to his relief. "Always being the big sister…" He trailed off. He felt anger rise in his body, his fists clenched as he thought about Helena. The corners of his upper lip twitched, a fact that he attempted to hide, but failed. Finally, he spoke. "Why the Hell did you bring me back, Ingrid?" He asked, crossing his arms defensively.

Hunnigan's mouth opened, almost to say something quippy, but she stopped herself, only managing a flummoxed "huh?"

Leon sucked his lower lip against his teeth, then flicked it out with his tongue. "I mean, I know why, but what I want to know is _why_?" He scratched the back of his head, facing the wall for a moment before whirling around to face Hunnigan once more. "You've got 43 good, no, great agents to choose from, by my count. Yet you picked me. 25 of them speak fluent Korean, 10 of which have been on covert operations to North Korea in the past. Yet you picked me."

Impossible. How did he know that? She knew he was smart, and that reading people's body language and emotions basically made him a human lie detector, but he wasn't some omniscient Mensa inductee. Hunnigan raised her chin, jutting it defiantly. She failed to stifle the guilty expression immediately after. "Leon, what the hell are you talking about?" She said.

Leon held a hand up, his index finger pointing at her slightly. "I didn't want to do this here, I really didn't; but now I don't have a choice. You never wiped me from the DSO system, but you blanked my file. You broke me out of prison by forging an official pardon letter from the President, an act that could have you executed. Hell, you paid my mortgage using money from the DSO budget for six months; you called it 'technological surveillance equipment.' Why?" He hissed.

Hunnigan took a step forward, forcing Leon to move backwards. She bit her lip, again. "You couldn't have hacked the DSO system. You're not good enough to pull that off. How do you know that?" She questioned. Initially, she was somewhat impressed. But it quickly faded when she realized what else he might have stumbled upon.

Leon shook his head. "No, you're right, I'm not good enough to break into the DSO. But your apartment…" He trailed off, his facial expression resembling a stone statue.

* * *

May 14th 2015, 2145, Washington, DC

* * *

The rain poured down hard, crashing on the pavement like artillery shells. Leon stood across the street from Hunnigan's apartment, a damp, brown paper bag in his hand. He brought it to his lips, feeling the whiskey warm his throat and chest. "April showers, huh?" He mumbled. The occasional car drove by, sending tidal waves of rainwater up and onto the sidewalk, a sight that Leon might have found humorous had he not been so determined.

He received the call from the bank earlier that day. They had told him that they had already received his mortgage payment for May and asked if he wanted to put the payment _he_ had made towards June's or have it refunded back to him. This obviously came as a surprise to him, because he lived alone. But he wasn't going to let this act of strange kindness slide, he needed to get to the bottom of it.

It was also that same day that Leon found out he had not been removed from the DSO system; as in, he still had access to their system from his home computer. He had tried his login just to see if it still worked, and lo and behold, it did. There were too many breadcrumbs for him to follow. In a collection of assumptions that the average person could only describe as 'bullshit', he had concluded – albeit a drunken one – that it had to have been Hunnigan.

His feet plodded across the street, towards the entrance to her building. He had timed his approach with the arrival of another member of the building. In his arms, he held a shopping bag, full of mostly crushed newspaper and small stones to make it look heavy; which it was. As the other person entered the building, he called out "Hey, can you hold the door?" Thankfully, they did. He smiled as he walked inside, trying to hide the fact that he was slightly shit-faced. "Hell of a storm, huh?" He said.

The man who opened the door, who was probably slightly older than Leon, smiled back at him. "You're telling me." He walked over to the elevator and pressed the button, calling the car.

Leon, blazed past him, not wanting to get stuck in a pointless conversation. He headed straight for the stairs; thankfully, Hunnigan only lived on the second floor. He placed the paper bag on the ground, not forgetting to remove his precious bottle. He twisted his feet on the carpeted flooring, wiping all traces of water from his feet before opening the door into the second level.

He knew Hunnigan had left for the night, knowing that she always went out for drinks on Thursday nights. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching him, and slid his auto-pick into her lock. He pulled the trigger rapidly, finally hearing the lock click open. He was in.

* * *

April 20th 2016, 1210, Washington, DC

* * *

"You broke into my apartment!?" Hunnigan yelled.

Leon growled. "When you force your way into my life? Yes, I feel I have a right to do so. I installed a backdoor into your system, took me some time but I eventually figured out how it worked. I saw every little bit of your meddling." He pressed forward again, walking towards her. "Why did you do it? Why am I so special, so precious?"

Hunnigan grunted, slamming her palm into the emergency stop button on the elevator's panel. The car screeched loudly to a halt, causing both to grab hold of the railings, their legs bowing at the inertia. A few strands of her hair had found a way out of her bun and now swayed back and forth, as her heavy breathing blew them away from her face. Her fingers gripped her tablet with such force, it could have cracked the screen if she didn't let go when she did. "You're not special, Leon!" She screamed, her own voice hurting her ears in such an enclosed space.

Leon leaned backward, taking half a step behind him. "Don't you fucking scream at me." He snarled, regaining his footing.

Hunnigan bared her teeth, snarling back; they looked like two animals fighting for dominance. "No." She said daringly. "You're not special, you're not _precious_ ," she licked her suddenly dry lips, "and I didn't do any of the things that I did, for you."

"You're a bad liar, Hunnigan." Leon said.

"I'm not lying, you entitled prick." Hunnigan swore. "I did it for Helena and Sherry. I did it for Claire!" She replied.

"Don't drag her name into this." He hissed back. He prodded at her chest with his finger. "You did what you did, because you felt sorry for me. Admit it."

Hunnigan swatted his hand away. "No, Leon," she said, "I did those things because people are _worried_ about you. _I'm_ worried about you." Her eyes had locked with his, neither one of them wanting to blink. "You're a wreck, Leon. You abuse alcohol, pills, sex; you were and are on a one-way path to dying alone behind some no-name, shit-hole bar and you wouldn't talk to anybody. And you think people _wouldn't_ be concerned?"

Leon dropped his eyes, growling under his breath. She wasn't wrong.

"Exactly. You blew almost all the money you had on shit to make you feel better, so the bank was going to repossessed your house. I broke you out of jail because I knew that I would never forgive myself if let you go to jail and knew that I could have done something to prevent it." Hunnigan snapped, blinking back tears.

Leon snarled at her, his arms twitching for a moment; he would never hit a woman. He stepped forward, getting right in her face. "Fuck you, Hunnigan. You don't have the right to manipulate my life."

"I do when my friend and co-worker is in a downward spiral. Even now I can see your hands shaking; you're sweating. How's your headache?" Hunnigan said, sniffing.

Leon's hands were shaking. As much as he was trying to hide it by keeping them in his pockets, it wasn't working anymore. His forehead beaded with sweat, a fact that he refused to acknowledge by not wiping at it. And he had to admit, the lights – even though dim – were hurting his eyes. "So what?" He said defiantly.

"So you're an alcoholic, Leon. And I need you at 100% for this mission. As does Helena." Hunnigan replied, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She glanced at her hand, seeing the black smudge mark of mascara. "God dammit." She cursed, sniffing again. She took in and let out a deep breath.

His lip twitched. "You look better without makeup anyway." He muttered. She was right. Absolutely and definitively right; no questions. But Leon was too prideful to admit it. Yeah, sure, he drank a lot; one might say too much. But it wasn't a problem, he knew he had the willpower to stop when he wanted to. But he didn't want to.

Hunnigan scowled at Leon. She pressed the emergency stop button and the car started moving again. "No I don't. Don't lie to me." She pulled a pocket mirror out from the inside of her coat and started brushing at her eyes with a small makeup brush.

"I'm sorry, Hunnigan." He said. "You're right," he said, more-so wanting to cool her off than give her _actual_ emotional satisfaction. "I need to be back in this completely. I can half-ass a lot of things, but I can't pull that off with this one. I'm sorry, Hunnigan." He repeated. For a moment, he felt at peace. For the first time since his removal, he had told the relative truth. There was a part of him that was even glad he would be on a mission again, have a purpose again. _'Hell,'_ he thought, smiling apathetically, _'I guess this fake-it-till-you-make-it bullshit really works.'_

* * *

April 20th 2016, 1230, Washington, DC

* * *

Leon leaned back, narrowly dodging the punch thrown at his chin. He faked a body-blow with his already lowered hands, then pivoted on his rear foot, whirling his heel towards his opponent. He felt it connect with his opponent's arms, then felt their hands wrap around his ankle, reefing him to the floor. He landed with a grunt, immediately kicking his foot up to deter his opponent from jumping on top of him.

The man he sparred with, buzzed head, brown eyes, athletic build with a narrow jaw grinned at him, flashing his mouth-guard. He signalled him to stand to his feet, a motion that Leon growled at. The man, known as Daniel, rushed at Leon again. He assailed him with furious punches, ones that Leon had a hard time avoiding. Daniel jumped into the air, popping both his knees for momentum, then driving his left knee forward, striking Leon in the abdomen.

Leon winced, taking a large step back. His breath came ragged, his body ached, and he could only put half his weight on his left leg. Yeah, this qualified as 'fucked'. He bounded forward, throwing his right leg straight out, trying to create distance. The punch from Daniel caught him square in the jaw, dropping him to the harder-than-usual safety mat. He landed with a 'hump', bringing his hands up to cover his face. Daniel landed on top of him, immediately enter a mount position. He started to harry him with punches, an assault that Leon was having serious trouble defending against. One of them caught him in the side of the face and Leon's vision blurred.

"Stop!" A voice yelled from the sidelines.

Daniel stopped his attack, slowly climbing off Leon; his chest heaved with exhaustion. He extended his hand down, a gesture that Leon brushed aside, preferring to regain his footing on his own volition. Leon pried the mouth-guard out and groaned as he rubbed his leg. "Hell of a kick you throw, kid." He said. He rolled his jaw painfully, trying to hide the fact that it hurt so much.

Daniel pulled his own mouth-guard out and grinned confidently. "Silver medal in Taekwondo; London 2012." He flexed his elbow and winced. "Nice armbar." He said, walking back to his bench.

Leon winked. "DSO CQC champion; 2009 to 2012." He walked over to his respective bench and sat down. He glanced over at Hunnigan, who was talking with the close combat instructor. She took a brief glance over to Leon but quickly averted her gaze back to the instructor. Leon clicked his tongue, taking a long drink from his water bottle. His heart still pounded in his chest, evidence that he had slightly neglected his cardio workout the past while. The blue DSO compression shirt that he wore was drenched in sweat, as were the grey sweat pants he wore that were literally living up to their name.

"Leon?" An _extremely_ familiar voice said.

Leon turned his head, his mouth hung open. Standing before him, in all his musclebound glory. "Redfield?" Leon said, standing to his feet. Chris Redfield hadn't changed at all; he was still the jacked, chiselled jaw, Captain America wannabe. The only thing that had changed was his uniform. Gone were the BSAA patches that Leon could swear were on every jacket Chris owned. Instead, they were replaced with shiny new DSO badges.

Chris gave Leon a hug. "It's good to see you're alright." He said, breaking the hug.

Leon stepped backwards. "I've been getting that a lot today." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "What's with the DSO patches?" He said, pointing at Chris' shoulders.

"Lot's changed. I'm still part of the BSAA, but more of a consultant role. The DSO is where I'm at 90% of the time." He said.

"So you're retired?" Leon asked. "Never thought I would see the day that the legendary Chris Redfield left the battlefield."

Chris chuckled. "Could still kick your ass. I'm still very much on the battlefield, just not shooting a gun on it. If I can help it." He responded.

"If I recall correctly, I beat you once already."

"That was a draw." Chris admitted hesitantly. "Would love to see who wins when there's no guns involved." Chris smiled.

Leon smirked and cocked his head sideways. "Was that a challenge, Chris?" He asked.

Chris smirked back. "It'll have to be some other time. What are you doing back? I thought you were-"

"Fired? It's complicated. As far as I know I'm a floater." He shrugged his shoulders.

Chris crossed his arms, letting out a sound of disgust. "Well, I'm glad that you understand how this place operates. Unlike some of the other 'agents' we've had come through here…" He trailed off, smiling at Hunnigan as she approached.

"Chris, it's good to see you again." Hunnigan said, walking over.

"Likewise, Hunnigan. How did Leon do?" Chris asked.

Hunnigan smiled falsely. "He passed. Despite being nearly pummeled into submission."

Leon frowned. "Hey." He protested. "Play nice, Hunnigan."

Chris coughed to hide a laugh, his smile betraying him. "You've been out of the game for a while now, Leon. Things have changed. You sure you're ready to come back into the fold?"

He looked at Chris seriously, his face belaying all humor; deadly serious. "I've been doing this as long as you have Chris. We've seen things that no one else has ever seen, nor should they see. I can't forget what this virus has done to our planet."

Chris' face mirrored Leon's. He slowly nodded.

"People are counting on me to help them. I can't just hang them out to dry. So, yes, I'm ready."

Chris placed a hand on Leon's shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile and a nod. "Good. Glad to have you back Agent Kennedy."

Hunnigan cleared her throat, drawing both men's attention to her. "Good. Cause your plane leaves in two hours, Leon. Get cleaned up and head to the garage when you're ready; we'll have a car waiting for you."

Leon nodded. Doubt swam through his head; what if he wasn't ready? The old Leon wouldn't have questioned himself like this, it was either do or die. But this new Leon, this unsure Leon, was nervous. What if Helena was already gone? Then what? Could he handle having to deal with that? His emotions were already compromised by this mission, and it seemed like a terrible idea to have the missing agent's ex-boyfriend come save them. None of this made sense.

"I'll be ready." Leon said, turning to head into the showers.

"Hey, Leon." Chris said as Leon turned. "Call Claire when you get a chance; she's worried about you."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 0200, Somewhere near Changjon, North Korea

* * *

Blood dribbled out of Helena's nose, dripping on the floor and landing in an ever-growing pool of the red liquid. Each droplet that impacted the cool, steel floor caused her head to pulse with pain. She licked her dry, cracked lips. She no longer winced when her tongue drew across the large gash in her upper lip. Her head hung limply towards her chest. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back, her legs tied to the uncomfortable wooden chair so tightly, that she thought that she might lose her feet. Her wrists were worn raw from struggling against her restraints; she had stopped days ago, accepting her torturous fate.

The door the metal shack squealed open, sending shockwaves of pain cascading through her skull. She didn't look up, she knew better. Heavy footsteps approached her, the sound of water sloshing in a bucket followed them; a sound she knew all too well.

"This is the last time we will ask you these questions." A heavily accented Korean voice said. "You can make this easier on yourself."

To the shock of both Helena and her interrogator, she started laughing. It was a low chuckle, then continued into full blow laughter; she had cracked. "Don't you think that by now I would have told you what I knew?" Her laughter subsided, transforming into a sucking type of sobbing. No tears flowed from her eyes; there wasn't much water in her body.

The sound of skin hitting skin resounded through the small shack. "Do _not_ mock me." The voice said. "I can make this stop. I can make all the pain stop. This is not easy for me, understand that."

She mumbled something quietly under her breath. The interrogator came closer. "What did you say?" He asked, turning his head to hear her better.

A scream filled the shack. For the first time, it was male.

The interrogator reeled backwards, clutching the area where his left ear should be. Blood poured down the side of his face as he swore and cried out for assistance. Multiple pairs of feet entered.

Helena spat the man's ear out and it landed with a disturbing 'splat' onto the floor. Blood dripped from her mouth, and for the first time, it wasn't hers. A sickening smile crossed her face. Her eyes were dead, no emotion left in them at all. The interrogator screamed something at her that she didn't understand and the chair she was on was forcefully thrown to the ground with her on it. She landed hard on her hands and forearms; she was sure that she heard the 'pop' of muscle or cartilage.

Her face was covered with a fabric bag; she couldn't see anything. She had given up on struggling, she knew that it was hopeless. All she could do was hold her breath as the ice-cold washed over her.

* * *

A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry it took me a little longer to get this one out. I took a bit of time to recharge my batteries with a little vacation. Couple writing with work (I'll never say no to double-time) and I was spread way too thin. Hope you liked the chapter, would love some feedback on it.

J.


	9. Crazy in Bed

April 20th 2016, 1630 (1330 WDC Time), Nevada Airspace, 45,000 Feet

* * *

Leon nervously tapped his fingers on the table in front of him; he hated flying. The fact that this was a private, DSO jet made things slightly better, but not by much. The overwhelming urge for a drink that had dogged him since leaving the DSO headquarters over 2 hours ago, was making him feel sick. Sweat beaded on his brow and he blinked his eyes to wick some of the salty liquid away. His muscles ached, his head pounded; he felt like he needed to throw up.

"Could you please stop doing that?" Hunnigan said, glancing over her laptop with her eyes set to 'kill-and-dispose-of-without-a-trace'.

Leon bit his lower lip in anxiety. "You sure there's no booze on this plane?" He asked, fidgeting uneasily.

Hunnigan shook her head. "Nope." She responded, swiftly going back to typing.

The sound of her fingers clicking on the keys, like a machinegun, was unnecessarily loud; he could swear that she typed at least 110 words a minute. "You're really, _really_ sure?" He asked again.

Hunnigan glared at Leon, her lips pursing. "What part of sobriety didn't you understand?" She growled.

He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Look, Hunnigan," he began, "you wanted me at my best for this mission. I can't be at my best if my head is pounding like a drum and I'm sweating like I'm in a sauna."

Hunnigan didn't flinch. "And I said that this was your first day of sobriety. There isn't any alcohol on this plane and when we land, there isn't going to be any alcohol near you. So, don't even think that you'll get a break on the ground."

Leon slammed his hand into the adjacent wall, letting out a growl. "I'm going to get Sherry killed…"

For a moment, Hunnigan considered her options. Option number one, was give Leon the hidden bottle of whiskey that she had requested be put on board. What was the harm in that? By fueling his addiction, she would be pushing back his recovery, not to mention inebriating him on this flight would certainly be a bad idea. She had researched the effects of alcohol withdrawal quite extensively in her youth, having had her own personal experiences with the disease; Leon was more a danger to Sherry sober than he was drunk. Option number two, was not give him any alcohol, watch him squirm as he fell prey to the numerous symptoms, have him get Sherry killed because he was too much of a wreck, and then get Helena killed because they couldn't find her.

"No, you won't. Because I have faith in you." She said defiantly.

Leon snorted, then started coughing. "Faith? You've gotta be kidding me."

Hunnigan closed her laptop, crossing her legs. "You're a good man, Leon Kennedy, regardless of what the bottle tells you. I know it, Helena knows it, and Sherry knows it too; we all need you now. Like it or not, Leon, people are counting on you." She stood up and moved to the back of the plane, opening the door to the restroom and stepping inside, leaving Leon alone.

Leon lolled his head back in his seat, his heart pounding in his ears. He looked out the window; the large, puffy white clouds drifting by put him at ease. He inhaled slowly, letting a breath out. It fogged up the window and he pulled the shade shut. There was a phone on the plane, one built into every seat. Leon stared at it, wondering if he should follow through on what he had planned. He picked the phone up and dialed the number that he had committed to memory. The line rang for what felt like a life-time, but finally it stopped.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Claire." Leon said, leaning back in the seat. He heard a glass shattering, then a curse.

"Leon?" Claire said.

"Hey, Claire." He repeated. "How're you doing?"

Claire was at a loss for words. "Um, I, uh…"

There was silence for several seconds, Leon started to contemplate hanging up. "Claire?" He asked. He heard a sniffing noise on the other end, followed by a sharp exhalation. "Claire?" He asked again.

"It's really good to hear your voice, Leon." Claire said. "Like, really good." Her breath seemed…uneasy.

"Yeah," Leon replied, "you too. How're you doing?"

"I'm good. Yeah, I'm good. Work's been…hectic."

"As always?"

Claire chuckled. "Yeah, as always. What about you? How's the D-" She cut herself off. "Oh. Leon, I'm sorry. I totally spaced."

Leon cleared his throat, almost like a laugh of some sort. "It's okay, Claire. Things have happened. I'm…reinstated. I'm back with the Department." He could practically hear Claire smiling on the other end.

"Leon, that's wonderful. I'm glad that things are looking up for you." She said.

"What do you mean?" Leon asked, suddenly feeling like a charity case.

"I mean, "Claire stopped, choosing her words carefully, "I'm happy that you're okay. I was really worried for you."

Leon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, Claire. But I'm okay now, I promise." He half-lied. His body still felt like it was going through a dryer that someone had set to 'fuck-up-beyond-all-recognition'. But he admitted that it did feel good to have a purpose aside from just being the end destination for alcohol. "Sherry's on the same mission I'm on too. So, it'll be good to see her."

"That's great." Claire exclaimed. "Hey, how about when the two of you come back, we go out for dinner. It'll be great to see you guys again."

Leon smiled. "Yeah, I think I'd like that. I'll let you know when we're back in town." He heard the door to the bathroom open in the other cabin. "Hey, I gotta go. I'll call you soon, alright?" Leon said.

"Yeah, definitely. Bye, Leon."

Leon smiled. "Bye, Claire."

He hung the phone up and sat back in his seat, finally starting to relax a little bit.

"What were you doing?" Hunnigan asked.

"Ordering a pizza. But it turns out that they can't deliver to a moving vehicle. Especially one that flies. Damn shame, really." Leon responded sarcastically. Hunnigan shot him a look. "I phoned Claire. Chill yourself."

Hunnigan sat back down. "Did you tell her where you were going?"

"What? You think she's a threat?" Leon said.

"If anyone finds out about this mission, it could be a declaration of war. At this point, I'm considering _everybody_ who doesn't know about this, a potential threat to security." Hunnigan flipped open her laptop, never breaking eye contact with Leon.

Leon frowned. "I didn't say anything to her. You can relax. We're going for dinner when we get back."

Hunnigan cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? I thought it wasn't that kind of relationship."

"It's not a date, Hunnigan. It's not that kind of a relationship." Leon replied.

Hunnigan scoffed. "I've heard stories of your 'just dinner', Leon Kennedy."

* * *

January 4th 2015, 0030, Washington, DC

* * *

A trail of clothes – both male and female – led from the front door and down Leon's hall. A bra hung haphazardly over the dark fabric couch, the TV wore a pair of black lace underwear like a hat, jeans slung messily over the coffee table. Somehow, black boxer briefs ended up in the kitchen sink. They had started in the elevator on the way up, both refusing to wait. If Helena hadn't been driving, it would have started in the car. Leon's belt was the first thing to go, she practically tore it off his waist and left it behind. It was a risky move, oral in an elevator, but she didn't care; and judging by the noises Leon had been making, he didn't care either.

Helena's body shivered as her face contorted in a mixture of both pain and pleasure. Sweat beaded and fell off her brow, causing dark grey spots on the white pillow in front of her. She groaned, digging her nails hard into the bed-sheets as she let out another breathless moan, caving her back towards the bed. In a lightning fast movement, she was on her back, staring up into his face.

Leon leant down and kissed her lips, groaning into it and receiving an equally satisfied groan in return. He stared into Helena's eyes, and she stared back, their relationship moving from partners to lovers. Suddenly, he was on his back, Helena on top of him. He closed his eyes, rolling his head back as he moaned. He gripped her hips and ran his hands around to her backside, feeling the soft, hot flesh underneath his touch.

Helena rocked her hips back and forth, her hands moving up to play with her hair. Her mouth parted and her tongue caressed her dry lips. Her body shivered again and she let out a squeaky moan. Her fingers dug deep into Leon's chest, eliciting a low growl. She grunted playfully as the sound of roughly smacking skin bounced around the small bedroom. Sweat dripped down her neck, falling between the curvature of her breasts and onto her stomach.

His hand reached up and grasped her throat, causing her to whimper, then moving to grip her hair; she moaned. He pulled her down to his lips, again embracing them with his own. Their bodies writhed together, sweat drenched the bed, their muscles ached, their hearts pounded; but they continued.

Finally, it was over. Leon and Helena collapsed, their chests heaving up and down, each could hear the other's heartbeat. After several minutes of silence, Helena's voice broke it.

She chuckled, then let out a pained, yet pleasurable moan. "Nope. Laughing is not good right now." She held her hand vertical, it visibly quivering. "That's never happened before." She smiled.

Leon tried moving. "My legs aren't working." He chuckled. He managed to muster enough strength to roll over, a movement that Helena soon mimicked.

"That was intense." She said, a smile crossing her face as she stared into Leon's eyes. They Both had ridiculous after-sex hair, a sight that made Helena giggle internally. She had never seen Leon with so much as a hair out of place, even through the intensity of combat, his hair managed to stay completely intact. It made her wonder how much hairspray he used, and what kind it was; she wanted to know for personal reasons, as her current spray wasn't working for her.

Leon smiled back at her. "How was that for dessert?" He asked, his smile turning into a grin. Helena's cheeks flushed, a gesture he thought impossible since her face was already pink with exhaustion.

"Well you certainly had an extra helping." She cooed, her chuckle quickly followed by a moan. She had to admit, Leon certainly was not a selfish lover.

"So did you." Leon shot back. His eyes still pounded slightly from how hard they had rolled back into his head; he could have sworn he saw what his brain looked like. "I just couldn't help myself when I saw you in that dress. Plus, those thigh-high leggings; you were asking for it."

Helena scoffed. "Maybe I was." She said seductively, her voice frying. She ran a hand across his chest, digging her nails into his pec every so slightly. "Fuck." She said breathlessly.

Leon kissed her. It wasn't a flame-hearted passionate kiss that he had been dishing out during their…romping, but one of genuine care. She wasn't some fling for him, he had found someone that really cared for him and vice versa. He might even go as far and say that he had fallen in love with her.

Helena loved him; she had fallen for him hard. She tried to pinpoint the exact moment that she had realized it, but she couldn't. It had been narrowed down to when he first held her in Tall Oaks, immediately after falling into the sewers; so romantic, she knew. Or it was on the plane to China. He had said that she was growing on him. To the average person, it didn't seem like much; but to her, it meant the world.

* * *

April 20th 2016, 1530, Washington, DC

* * *

"I want that fucker found! I want him dead!" The overweight man yelled. "He crippled my fucking boy. I want his head stuffed and mounted on my god-damn, motherfucking wall." He screamed, slamming his fists into the solid oak desk he sat at. He took a large swig of the scotch at his side, not caring to put it in a glass.

"Boss, we don't know who he is. He disappeared, like a ghost." A thin, suited, mouse faced man said. His hands shook nervously, and with good reason; Francisco Delfino was not a man to piss off.

Delfino ran a hand through his greying and mostly disappeared hair. "Look at my walls," he said menacingly. "Do you see what lays upon them?"

The man glanced around; dozens of animal busts, some exotic some not, adorned the walls of Delfino's office. A lion, a tiger, a bear, a deer, even a great white stared out, each forming an expression of pure aggression. "Um, animals, sir." The man meagered out.

Delfino smiled. "That is correct; very good. And do you know how I found these animals?" He asked. The man shook his head. "I followed their trail, found where they lived, and shot them!" He shouted back. "Nothing leaves no trace. You're going to track down this _animal_ and shoot him."

"Yes, Mr. Delfino, sir. I'll get on it right away."

Delfino waved his hand dismissively. "Good. Now get the hell out of my office. I have work to do…" The man whirled around, walking quickly out of the well-furnished office.

It was well lit, an ornate chandelier hung high above in the lofty ceiling, while the walls were adorned with beautiful redwood bookcases stocked with books. These, of course, were mostly for show, as Francisco Delfino was not much of a reader. The floor was of a dark, almost black, wood that was completely natural. To his right, was a solid metal door that led into a panic room; nothing was getting into that room unless he willed it to. A gigantic glass window behind him looked out onto his mansion's award winning gardens; the window was bulletproof no doubt.

"You want the man who hurt your son?" A distorted voice breaking the silence.

Delfino panicked. He threw open one of the drawers on his desk, pulling out an extremely capable looking .357 Raging Bull. "Who's there?" He called out, his other hand reaching under his desk, depressing the red 'alarm' button.

Almost at his command, a figure materialized; the air cracked around it as it appeared, blue fizzes of energy dissipated around its body. Its face was hidden under a helmet, but as it walked in it's skin-tight, strangely futuristic cat-suit, it was clear it was female. "You want to kill the man who hurt your son?" It repeated. Its voice was deep and distorted, like someone was talking through a megaphone underwater.

Delfino raised the weapon at the figure. "Don't come any closer." He said, his voice quivering. He pressed the alarm button again. "Come on, come on…" He hissed under his breath.

The figure chuckled. "They won't be coming. And you won't be needing that." It said. With a hand motion that resembled someone carelessly swatting a fly, the gun flew from his grasp and landed across the room. "I won't hurt you unless you make me. And believe me, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. I will ask you a third and final time, do you want to kill the man who hurt your son?"

Delfino shook with fear; behind his desk he was unstoppable, but confront him directly, he was a child. He shook his head. "Yes. I want to get that son of a bitch and tear him apart."

The figure stepped forward, its hips sashaying from side to side; it would have been sexy if it wasn't so terrifying. It stopped on the other side of his desk, the helmet – that appeared to be a sort of flight helmet – stared at him with no emotion. It laid two small syringes on the desk, each carrying a dark red liquid.

"The man's name is Leon Scott Kennedy. Give these to your best man, and he will kill him. Do _not_ under any circumstance inject both at the same time." The figure gurgled.

Delfino reached forward, taking the syringes in hand. "What…what do they do?" He stuttered.

There was no response. The figure walked casually away, the air around it crackled again, more blue fizzes zapped through the surrounding area. And as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.

Delfino eyed the syringe, as if his revenge lay inside. And he was correct to do so, because it did.

* * *

A/N: WOW! Those weeks flew past…I'm…sorry? I guess it's a little late for that now, but I'm not giving up on this, no way in _HELL._ Let's just say that Final Fantasy XV is one hell of a time killer…I digress. I wanted to jump around a little bit more in this one, try and flesh out certain story aspects and introduce more characters. I also wanted to give Helena a bit more screen time now as opposed to flooding the story with her POV later (something I'm trying to avoid doing). It's a damn shame that she spent much of her time on her back in this one… Anyway, I'd love some feedback on this and anything else going forward or that I've already posted.

Thanks, guys,

J.


	10. Helena

March 28th 2016, 0430, 10 ½ Kilometers above North Korea

* * *

Helena's heart pounded in her chest, threatening to crack her breastbone. She had hoped that someone would have been on this flight to keep her company, but she had no such luck. The only other person she had seen had been a comely male soldier that came back over eight hours ago to make sure that she wasn't dead. The cargo hold of the plane was mostly dark, aside from the red running lights that gave the eerily empty, massive space a sinister look. Her ride was unlike any aircraft she had seen before; it bore the same name as other C-130 planes, but the design was reminiscent of something out of a science fiction movie. Instead of four prop engines tucked under the wings, there were two turbine engines, hugging close to the body underneath the "armpit" of the craft. The body of it was slim and rounded, giving it an incredibly low drag; this thing was fast, and quiet. It was exactly what was needed.

She ran a hand through her brown hair. It had been cut recently, as the mass of brown hair that she had originally rocked wouldn't have fit inside the helmet. Instead, she sported a shorter, slightly below her ears, haircut. She was upset because it made her look like one of the Beatles, what with it's ridiculous straight fringe, but she had found ways to make it look at least somewhat sexy. She tugged nervously at the overly tight body suit she wore. The higher-ups called it a "Infiltration and Reconnaissance Suit" or 'IRS' for short. She referred to it as a "tactical cat-suit". It hugged her in all the right places, and even some that she would have preferred _not_ to be hugged in, but she was assured that it would protect her. Kevlar had been woven into the fabric and, although it was thin, it made her thighs, chest, and upper arms appear larger than normal. The part that made her uncomfortable was that it actively hugged her diaphragm, forcing her to take shallower breaths; she was told that it increased her performance but the jury was still out on that decision. But it did effortlessly manage to give her that flat stomach that so many strived to achieve.

 _'North Korea. Never thought I'd be coming back here.'_ She thought. It had been just over a year since she had been here, the thoughts replaying in her head like a movie. Thoughts that she would rather not be thinking about minutes before being dropped out of an airplane and into a place that would be more than happy with skinning alive and parading through the streets. She shuddered at the other unwelcome thought.

* * *

" _I press this button and the whole world descends into absolute chaos."_

" _Leon, shoot her. Shoot her, goddammit!"_

* * *

There was a loud buzzing noise that shook Helena from her remembrance as more red lights came on, causing a chill to crawl up her spine. A single green light flashed on near the rear of the plane; the same male soldier appeared from out of the cockpit. Helena glanced over at him, her face pale. Her body was full of nerves; she felt like there was a cage of butterflies in her stomach. She focused on her breathing, finding it difficult to take deep breaths as the suit squeezed all the air out of her. An empty metal ammo box clattered down in front of her, causing her to jump. She looked up at the soldier in front of her, her mouth hung open and eyes wide.

"Here," the soldier said, "some of the guys need to puke before they jump. They say it helps with the nerves." He stepped back, trying to hide the wide grin on his face.

Helena grabbed the box and stared into it. "Get in there and puke, we got a game to win." She said, chuckling to herself.

The soldier cocked an eyebrow. "Pardon, ma'am?"

Helena continued her breathing. She swallowed. "Bill Russell. Retired basketball player from the 50's and 60's. Guy used to puke – _allegedly_ of course – before every game the Celtics played." She heard the solider chuckle.

"Never pegged you for a basketball fan, ma'am. Was he any good?" He asked, crossing his arms. He glanced over at the door and checked his watch. "One minute to drop."

Helena retched. It wasn't difficult considering that the only food she consumed this trip was horrible MRE's, beef and chicken jerky, and an unhealthy amount of Ripped Fuel. She retched again at the sight of her own vomit; it was funny how that worked. A canteen appeared in front of her, one she very willingly accepted. She took a large swig of it, sloshing the liquid around in her mouth, before spitting it out on the metal deck in front of her. She wiped her mouth. "Most championships won by a North American athlete; man doesn't have enough fingers for the amount of rings he's won. So, I'd say he's pretty good."

"30 seconds to drop." The soldier said.

Helena nodded. She dry-heaved, her stomach having been emptied of its contents. She took another drink and swallowed, wiping her chin with the back of her hand; her nerves had settled down only minorly. She reached down between her legs and pulled the helmet out from underneath the bench. It was like a flight helmet, except the entire front of the helmet was covered in a face shield. Two round, stubby antennas protruded from the top of it, making her look like a cheesy alien from an old movie. She had been given a crash course on the operation of her suit before leaving, and she had browsed through the instruction manual on her flight, albeit briefly, but now it was time to put it into action. She slipped it onto her head, feeling it hug her more snugly than she remembered. She pulled the helmet down and twisted. It hissed, small jets of compressed air shooting out from around her neck as it sealed itself. To her, the glass in front of her lit up in a light blue color, displaying her heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels in the corners. To everyone else, all they saw was blackness. She lifted her parachute off the floor and strapped it to her back, making sure everything was in order. She strapped her rifle to her chest, a carbine version of the standard DSO rifle.

A loud mechanical, hydraulic noise filled the hold; the cargo ramp was lowering. She had a flashback to China. Helena nervously tightened the backpack that held the thin piece of canvas that protected her from certain death.

"Leon…" She whispered. For a moment, she lost focus. Images of the two of them together sped through her mind. Dinner at a nice restaurant, quiet nights in, nights of passion in the bedroom; and any other place that their hearts desired. She shook her head, her face twitching in both anger and sadness.

"20 Seconds to drop." The soldier yelled over the cacophony of the wind.

She nodded over at him, giving him the "O.K" sign with her hand. She probably looked intimidating to him, alien in appearance; her face completely hidden beneath the Darth Vader-like mask. Her visor flashed, an audio wavelength appeared in the top right corner.

"Good morning, Agent Harper." A digitized female voice said. It was almost sing-song in nature; overly cheery for the gravity of what Helena was about to do.

"Maybe for you." Helena joked.

"Very funny, Agent Harper. I would laugh, but that is not in my programming." The voice replied. "I have compiled all relevant map data for the impending mission. Would you like to view it?"

"Put it up. Transparently." Helena said.

Her visor flashed, a large topographical map appeared in front of her, then slowly faded to allow her to see unobstructed. There was a wipe, the map being more detailed with trees, roads, even small buildings.

"This is the information that our satellites have managed to gather. It is not much, but it should allow you to better complete your mission." A red circle appeared on the map. It was in a small clearing, probably not much bigger than a couple hundred meters. "This is where you will touch down. It is far enough away from any rural areas that you should avoid detection."

"Should?" Helena questioned, suddenly feeling the nerves again.

"Ten seconds to drop." The soldier called again.

Helena moved into position, rolling her shoulders. She flexed her hands, trying to get even a small amount of blood back in them; they were frozen solid, even in her suit.

"The probability of detection is approximately less than 0.001 percent. I am not programmed to lie to you." The voice said.

A green circle appeared some distance away in an industrialized area, then a red line was traced through the forest from the red circle to the green one. "This is statistically where you will find the information that is relevant for completing this mission."

"Why there?" Helena asked.

"The power consumption for that building is 200 percent higher than what it should be."

"What's that building _supposed_ to be?"

"A textile factory."

"Maybe they're using a new kind of machine, one that pumps out shirts in record time; maybe it uses a lot of power." Helena said, smiling to herself.

"Highly unlikely, Agent Harper."

Helena frowned. "It was a joke." She muttered.

"Forgive me; I am not programmed for comedy. Let me attempt to humor you." The computerized voice uttered the most canned, fake laughter Helena had heard in her entire life. She sighed.

"What's the weather like this morning?" She asked, changing the subject.

"53.6 degrees with a humidity of 45 percent. Chance of precipitation is 10 percent."

"Five seconds to drop."

Helena watched as the soldier held his hand up, counting down on his fingers. Four…three…two… She inhaled deep, the suit straining against her mid-section. One.

She took off, taking three long strides down the ramp, leaping out into the cold air with abandon; and she was falling. The pressure of the wind on her body was painful, the wind rushing by her stung her skin and made her ears throb even from inside her protective suit. A blue altimeter appeared on her visor, the numbers counting down rapidly. "Activate night-vision." Helena said.

"Activating night-vision will produce too large a spike in power consumption. You will be visible on enemy sensors. Are you _sure_ you wish to activate optics?" It said in the most condescending tone Helena believed it could muster.

Helena growled under her breath. "Never mind, then…" She trailed off.

"Agent Harper, I'm detecting an elevated heart rate and increased respiration, is everything alright?" The voice said.

Helena scoffed, spreading her arms and legs apart, like a star, just like she had been taught. "I'm falling out of the sky. In pure darkness. Did you think I was going to be Zen?" She snapped back, now realizing how quickly she was breathing. There were few lights in North Korea, most of the power being concentrated around Pyongyang and Kaesong, which were easy to spot from this high up; everything else was black. It was terrifying, really, plummeting into the blackness; the only thing between her and becoming a pancake was a glorified blanket, a thought that she held little solace in. "Remind me, what was the optimal distance for opening again?" She asked.

There was a pause. "The optimal distance for a High Altitude, Low Opening jump is approximately 2000 feet. The lowest safe altitude for opening is 1500 feet. The percentage of survivability rapidly decreases every micro-second once you go below 1500 feet."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Helena muttered.

"I will repeat; I am not programmed to lie to you."

The altimeter flashed, stopping at 25,000 feet and holding. The display flickered; the altimeter resumed its count, reading 24,000 feet. Helena assumed it was simply a side effect of being new technology and thought nothing of it. Then it happened again. The blue HUD on her visor flashed, then flashed again. Her suit tightened around her midsection, causing her to groan and grit her teeth in pain. "What's going on? I can't breathe." She wheezed, trying to suck in what shallow breaths she could. Her heart rate accelerated higher and higher, the monitor reaching 175 beats per minute.

"I am detecting large amounts of nearby electrical interference. It appears that it is causing difficulties with your suit. Would you like me to attempt to rectify the problem?"

"Please hurry." She begged; Helena didn't like the idea of having her body crushed by the very suit that she was told would protect her. Killed by her own suit. _'Oh, the irony.'_ She thought. The pressure subsided and Helena breathed a sigh of relief that was shorter lived than she would have liked. She looked around. Maybe it was a drone, or another aircraft flying 'low'. "Are you sure? I don't see anything."

"Yes, I am sure. The interference is 5,000 feet below you. It is closing at approximately 150 feet per second."

"Closing? You mean it's moving?" She yelled, her voice hurting her own ears inside the helmet. "Send out a SONAR ping; I need to see it."

"Agent Harper, a SONAR ping will alert any hostiles to your position."

Helena growled. "I'm in the air, not underwater. Just do it."

"As you wish Agent Harper. Initiating SONAR ping."

Helena's visor flashed again; she didn't know if the interference was to blame, or the ping. A circle materialized in front of her face, rotating to display a three-dimensional grid. A small dot sat in the centre; that was her. A thinner circle moved out from her, causing the grid to light up like a Christmas tree. A large, solid blue oval emerged beneath her, inching closer and closer by the second. "What the hell is that?" She said. "Ping again."

"Agent Harper, I believe that is unwise. Statistically-"

"Just do it." She yelled.

Another ping went out. Again, the blue oval appeared, this time much closer. She strained her eyes to try and spot what the blip could be. _"It's the size of a damn bus. Why can't I see it?"_ She thought. She bit her lip, mulling over her actions. "Switch to night-vision." She said reluctantly. She was too high up to _not_ be noticed by sensors, but this was concerning.

"Agent Harper-"

"Just do it!" She repeated angrily.

Her visor faded to black, her heart beat faster, an act that she thought impossible. Her visor lit up green, adding a much-needed light to her environment. She swiveled her head around, searching for the source of interference. She caught a fleeting glimpse of something, something that shouldn't belong. A teal colored flash of energy that appeared for less than a second, then saw it again. It looked to be moving, but she couldn't see where it was coming from. It flashed again; it wasn't attached to anything, it was just…moving. _'Lightning, maybe?'_ She thought. Her visor flickered, this time more intense than the last.

"I think I see the source of the interference. It looks like- Oh, shit!"

* * *

A/N: And I think that's where we're going to stop for today! This note might be a little bit longer than normal, because Christmas thanks and all.

I don't know if I'll get another chapter out before Christmas, I'm not really counting on it. There should be another chapter up the first week of January or _maybe_ the final week of December. To be honest, I would love to put chapters out every week if I could, like I did when I started. But I've become so busy it's getting harder and harder to do that. I've been getting some really positive reviews on this story and am so grateful for it. I had no idea that this was going to take off like it did. So, thank you to all the readers for giving this a chance! Next chapter is coming up on 01/07/17 (or earlier if I can manage it…I'll do my best)

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays.

J.


	11. Short Change Hero

April 21st 2016, 0630 (1630 WDC Time), Seoul, South Korea

* * *

"Look over there." Hunnigan said, pointing out the plane window.

Leon glanced outside. He groaned, spotting the massive crater that stretched for several miles. "Don't remind me." He said, placing his head back in his hands.

"It's kind of funny, isn't it?" Hunnigan said. "Coming back to where it all began."

Leon glared up at her. "Forgive me if I don't see the humor."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 1700 (0300 WDC Time), Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Leon retched, Hunnigan sighed, and Sherry growled.

"Fucking jet lag…" Leon groaned, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and leaving a disgusting looking vomit stain. The truth was, it wasn't the jet lag. It was because he hadn't had a drink for over a day and the withdrawal symptoms were getting worse and worse. Headache, nausea, light-headedness, exhaustion, plus he had _fully_ sweat through his undershirt and was now staining his white dress shirt.

Sherry and Hunnigan stood a few feet away from Leon. "I thought you said that he would be up to this." Sherry whispered to Hunnigan.

Hunnigan sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her mouth drew thin as she frowned. "It's been rough going, Sherry. It's going to take time for him to come back to us."

Sherry looked at Hunnigan. "Time?" She said, cocking her head. "We're out of time, Ingrid. Helena's in some shithole of a hut, and every second that we waste here is one step closer to finding a dead body." She sighed, mimicking Hunnigan's motion of grabbing the bridge of her nose. "I should have just gone in by myself…" She trailed off.

Leon retched again and the two women cringed. Hunnigan turned her head to Sherry. "You need a partner in this. You need someone to watch your back." She said.

Sherry scoffed. "You know full well I don't, Hunnigan." Sherry shot back.

Hunnigan looked around the crowded operations tent. Blinking lights, bright computer screens, and enough cabling to run the circumference of Earth twice over. She grabbed Sherry by the arm, roughly pulling her aside, away from earshot. "Look," she hissed, "I don't know what they did to you in China, but you're not invincible. I _know_ that much."

Sherry removed the mesh baseball hat she wore and ran a hand through her long blonde hair. Snapping an elastic off her wrist she quickly and expertly wrapped her hair up into a tight ponytail, tucking it through the opening in the back of the hat. "I'm not invincible, you're right. But at least I'm clean and sober."

Hunnigan glanced back over at Leon who was still hunched over a garbage can, profusely emptying his lunch _and_ dinner into the black plastic. She sighed. "I want to save Helena as much as you and Leon do, but that doesn't mean that I'm willing to save one agent and risk leaving another one behind." She said. Her face softened. "Please, Sherry. I've watched him the past year, you haven't. Seeing him like this, seeing him get to where he is…" she trailed off. "He needs our help right now."

Sherry glanced over at Leon, her face radiating disappointment. She shoved past Hunnigan. "It certainly doesn't seem like he wants it." She hissed in passing. Sherry walked off into another section of the command tent, throwing open a tent-flap door in frustration.

Hunnigan sighed again, dropping her shoulders in defeat. "Sherry…" She trailed off quietly. She heard a sniffle behind her and a groan. Leon stood up and walked – more appropriately – limped and stumbled over the Hunnigan, grabbing her shoulder for support, causing the younger woman to jump in surprise.

"When you said she was different, I didn't think she would be so…cold." Leon said, giving a sickly frown in Sherry's direction.

* * *

April 21st 2016, 0700 (1700 WDC Time), Seoul, South Korea

* * *

The plane had landed, and that made Leon happy. He reserved his state of elation until later when he could have a drink. Customs was practically non-existent; the flight being a government charter and all. The accommodations could have been better though, seeing as him and Hunnigan were being forced to share a room; a thought that sat, _surprisingly,_ worse with Leon than Hunnigan. He was thankful that he finally managed to get some food in his stomach, even though it was probably not going to stay there much longer. He flipped through the folder in front of him, the paper feeling overly rough on his fingers. He took a bite of his toast. "I've been meaning to ask," he sniffed, thinking he might have a cold coming on, "how's Sherry going to handle me…ya know."

"Coming back?" Hunnigan said, peering over her laptop with a spoon full of oatmeal in her mouth.

"Yeah. You said she really stepped up her game since I left. Is she," he fought for the right word, "different at all?"

Hunnigan shrugged her shoulders. "She really dived into her job after you left. The pressure that she put on herself is…unimaginable. But I'd imagine that once she sees you, she won't be any different than the girl you knew a year ago."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 1715 (0315 WDC Time), Seoul, South Korea

* * *

"She's really different than that girl I knew a year ago." Leon mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Leon." Hunnigan said. "Give her time, I'm sure she'll come around."

They walked into a central working area. Four larges tables had been pushed together, with several computer monitors sitting atop them. Surrounding them were more monitors and stacks of servers; it would have been boiling if not for the AC cranked up to full. Sherry stood in front of a large screen, easily 70 or 90 inches wide, her hands clasped behind her back, feet spread shoulder width apart. Her head cocked as she heard the two of them approach, turning to face them.

She was 30 now; still attractive as ever. Her long legs sported loose camo pants and on her feet, were black combat boots; not exactly the most attractive attire. A long-sleeve camo jacket was tied around her waist, and she wore a grey compression shirt that – according to Leon's mind – hugged her chest a _little_ too tightly. She wasn't wearing much makeup, if she was wearing any at all, and her blond hair seemed like it hadn't been cut in a very long time.

"Glad you could join us, Leon." Sherry said, trying her best not to sound condescending. She failed.

Leon grinned. "Of course, ma'am. Wouldn't miss this for the world." Hunnigan elbowed Leon in the side, shooting him a 'you really shouldn't joke with her' look.

"Any update on Helena's whereabouts?" Hunnigan asked, tapping her tablet. Leon swore that all she was doing was playing 'Angry Birds'.

Sherry made a 'come here' motion with her hand and a young Asian male analyst rushed forward, holding a tablet of his own. "Specialist, tell them what you told me."

"Specialist Ben Kwon, reporting." He said, turning to face the large screen. He made some tapping motions on his tablet and several smaller screens appeared. "When Agent Harper went missing, she was testing out a new type of infiltration suit. The suit has a built-in RFID tag that we can use to track it."

Leon crossed his arms. "RFID? Why not just use GPS?"

Kwon shook his head. "Too high profile. GPS is easy to hack into. RFID, you need the _specific_ frequency to get the information on it. The good news, is that we managed to locate Helena's last position."

"And the bag news?" Sherry said.

"The signal hasn't moved in several days." Kwon replied.

"But that doesn't mean anything." Hunnigan said. "They could have taken the tag out and moved her, if they knew she was being tracked."

Again, Kwon shook his head. "Unlikely. The tag is smaller than your pinky nail; they wouldn't know to look for it unless they knew what they were looking for."

Sherry leaned over and whispered something in Kwon's ear. He nodded. "We also decrypted this yesterday morning." Sherry said. "Kwon," she signaled.

He tapped something on his tablet and a video screen appeared in front of them.

The video of rapidly approaching ground flashed before them, the unmistakeable sound of wind rushing past microphones assaulted their ears.

"Just do it!" It was Helena's voice.

Leon let out a breath; he was happy to hear her voice again. He unconsciously bit his lip, gripping fingers into his palms.

The footage flashed green; night-vision. The view shifted, moving around frantically, then focusing on something below the view point.

"The suit she wore was equipped with a camera. For both security and accountability purposes." Kwon said.

A lightning spur of teal flashed before them, Leon frowned, trying to make out what it was. The footage distorted intensely. It happened again. "What's with that flash of light?" Leon asked.

"Just watch." Sherry said grimly.

"I think I see the source of the interference. It looks like-"

Just as the words had left Helena's mouth, something appeared in front of her. It was unlike anything Sherry, Hunnigan, or Leon had ever seen; it was completely unnatural. It was a B.O.W. A gigantic maw of teeth opened with a roar seemingly out of thin air. Helena rolled out of the way, the camera distorting even more, causing the sound to cut in and out.

"What the fuck is that!?" She screamed, trying to regain her composure. She was falling on her back, staring up at the thing. It was big. Not in the sense that it was tall, more so that it was long, easily the length of several school busses and probably about as tall as one. It had fins like a shark and, as the tent crew had just seen, a maw not dissimilar to one either. Teal flashes of energy jumped from spines on it's back and the video distorted again.

"What the fuck is that?" Leon asked, mimicking Helena.

"It's a new B.O.W. We think that the Russians gave it to the North Koreans. But we don't have any proof to involve them. Keep watching." Sherry said.

Helena fell through the sky, her breath running short and ragged, the heart monitor in the corner of the screen flashed red, indicating that her heartrate was dangerously high. She flipped back onto her stomach, hearing a roar behind her, she streamlined herself. "How much further?" She asked in between panicked breaths.

"30 more seconds until optimal chute deployment." The AI said.

Helena cursed, glancing behind her. It was getting closer and fast. "Give me a proximity alert." She said, looking back in front of her.

"How close?" The AI replied.

"When it's right on top of me."

Helena's breathing became faster and Leon was sure she was going to pass out. He gripped his hands again, silently praying that she would be okay. "Come on, Helena, come on…"

Hunnigan slowly moved her hand to his, working her index finger into his fist. Her breath hitched in her throat as Leon took her hand and gripped it tightly.

"Proximity alert." The AI warned.

Helena grunted, spreading her body wide. She slowed down to a fraction of her current speed and watched as the creature sped past her. Suddenly, she started to spin. The footage rapidly rotating from sky to ground over and over. She screamed, then started crying.

"Warning: severe injury detected." The AI said, displaying a human body in the corner of the screen. The right leg flashed red.

"How close to chute." Helena managed.

"Ten seconds."

"Pop chute on my mark." She said, her voice faltering.

Leon turned around, freeing his hand from Hunnigan's. His face twitched in a combination of anger and sadness. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Turn it off." He demanded.

"What?" Sherry said.

"Turn it the fuck off." He yelled. "I don't want to see my ex-girlfriend get devoured by some fucked up sky-eel."

"Leon…" Hunnigan said, placing a hand on Leon's arm.

"You're not in command here, Leon. I'm sorry." Sherry said.

"Then fucking fast forward it, goddammit." He said again. "I don't want to watch this shit…"

Sherry sighed angrily. "Kwon, speed up the footage."

Kwon nodded. Helena suddenly started falling at a supersonic speed, her body snapping into place as her chute deployed and appearing to fall dangerously fast as she touched down on the ground. Kwon set the speed back down to normal. "You're going to want to watch this."

Leon frowned, his brow furrowing. "Fine." He snarled.

Helena lolled her head back, resting it on the tree she sat against. She was crying. "Fuck." She whimpered out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She repeated.

"Agent Harper, I am detecting several heat signatures approaching your position."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" She said again, her voice quivering. "Send this back to command, encryption code Foxtrot." There was a loud hissing noise. So loud that Leon and the rest of those watching flinched in pain. The angle shifted, displaying Helena's face. Her eyes were red, her upper lip was split, and there was a large gash on the left side of her cheek; she was scared. "This is Agent Helena Harper," she paused, sucking in panicked breaths. "I have encountered an unknown B.O.W. My right leg and several of my ribs are broken." She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed. "The mission is a failure. Do not attempt to rescue me, I knew the risks." Her head suddenly snapped to her right, voices could be heard over the speakers. Korean voices. "Don't come for me." She said, her brow and lips quivering.

Helena grunted, the camera spun rapidly and then impacted the ground some several feet from where she sat. More angry voices echoed out, getting closer. Gunfire erupted, the camera catching sight of bright muzzle flashes. A scream, not one of fear or pain, but one of accepting death echoed out over the speaker. There was a pained grunt, the shooting stopped, and the feed went dead.

Silence gripped the tent. The beeping of the servers and the typing of other analysts the only audible noise. Leon gripped his hands tightly; he thought his knuckles were going to pop. "She's alive…" he breathed. "I _know_ she's alive." He said.

Sherry's mouth drew thin. "We don't know for sure."

Leon whirled around, staring Sherry down. "But _I do._ I know her. She's tough. She's still alive."

Hunnigan gripped Leon's arm, more gently this time. "Leon, you saw the tape. I didn't even know we had this until now. She doesn't want anyone to come for her."

Leon ripped his arm away from Hunnigan. "Fuck. That." He said, his eyes burning a hole in her head.

Hunnigan had seen this look before, several times. Leon had a way of convincing people with just a look, and she was not immune to his charm. Hell, she couldn't think of a single woman who was. "Leon…"

"It's a shame, really," Sherry said, "I'm going to have to reassign the elements that I had planned for the infiltration and the exfiltration. That's not going to be easy…"

Leon looked over at Sherry. She was grinning. He grinned back. The first positive moment they shared since reuniting. "It would be a shame to waste such well made plans." He quipped.

Hunnigan removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "I _hate_ it when you two get like this."

"One hour." Sherry said, turning and picking up a phone.

His symptoms had lessened; he was surprised. Maybe it was the feeling of dread that he got imagining Helena's broken body. Or maybe it was the feeling of purpose he suddenly had again. Whatever it was, his body had been kicked into overdrive recovery mode. He still craved a drink, but he shoved it away, compartmentalizing it with all the other horrible thoughts that he had. "I'll get my things." Leon said, moving past Hunnigan and out the tent door.

Sherry appeared beside Hunnigan. "Is he gone?" She asked.

Hunnigan nodded. "You're sure we shouldn't have shown him this?"

"Entirely sure. He wouldn't have been able to focus." Sherry replied.

Hunnigan tapped on the tablet, bringing up the same footage that they had just watched. It continued past where the feed went dead. The helmet raised off the ground. A face that clearly used to once be beautiful appeared on the screen, eyeing the camera curiously. Black hair, almond shaped eyes, the left side of her face sagged with burn scars. Even though half of her mouth was scarred, her sly smirk was apparent.

"Well, hello there." The woman said.

* * *

A/N: Dat Resident Evil: Vendetta trailer though...

Good to be back everyone! I hope you all enjoy the new chapter and would love to hear some feedback on it. More action coming in the next one for sure so don't feel like things are slowing down just yet. I've started putting together a little playlist on Spotify with all the chapter songs in it, so feel free to go and check that out! Just search Resident Evil: REbirth on Spotify and you should find it no problem.

Hope everyone had an awesome Holiday and safe New Year. Let's just say that after spending a week in Florida it was wonderful to get back to Canada's -10 degree weather. Going to start working on the next chapter soon, just need to figure out where it's going to end up...check back soon!

J.


	12. Tainted

April 21st 2016, 2030 (0630 WDC Time), 25 miles off the coast of Changjon, North Korea

* * *

Leon had trouble breathing the water was so cold. _'Side effect of being this close to Russia'_ he thought. Bubbles drifted out from the SCUBA mouth piece and up towards the surface. It was eerily quiet aside from the sound of his breathing and the humming of the Diver Propulsion Device that propelled him through the water at surprising speed. She had given him a refresher crash course on dive training, something he desperately needed. Breath normally, don't rise faster than your bubbles or you'll get sick, strap your gear bag to your chest with a triple knot or else you're going to lose it. Simple things, really. The neoprene dive-suit was about as comfortable as someone could imagine; as in, it wasn't. The thermal unitard he wore under the suit was riding up, causing it to bunch around the back of his knees and under his armpits and _there_. _'Yeah. I'm real glad I came back'_ he mused to himself.

The truth? He was. The little part of him that desired to do this again was growing, getting more powerful. Back in DC, at the range, that's where he really felt it. His muscle memory kicking in, and not just about handling a firearm. His mind had flashed back, a dangerous prospect for someone in his profession. He remembered Raccoon, South America, Europe, Harvardville, Slav Republic, Tall Oaks, China, and finally back to North Korea. It was as if they all came back to him at once. Memories that he thought were long repressed – as was a staple for any type of agent – resurfaced. It made him angry. It made him remember why he started this in the first place. It made him hungry for more.

"You're sure there's no sharks around here?" Leon asked with difficulty, speaking through the radio built into his mouth piece. He glanced over beside him at Sherry.

"I'm sure, I'm sure." Sherry replied, her own voice sounding just as garbled. She wore the same black neoprene dive-suit he did, but hers somehow looked 10 times better than Leon's did. Or maybe it was that _she_ looked 10 times better than Leon did. "The only thing we have to worry about is sea mines." She said, her voice clipping up at the end. She let out a breathy chuckle. "And great whites."

There was an intense stream of bubbles from Leon's mask. "What?" He exclaimed. He couldn't see Sherry's eyes in the blackness of the water, the only light they had was the dim moonlight shining down the several dozen feet below the surface, but he could tell she was grinning. "That's really not funny." He said angrily.

"What? Leon Kennedy is afraid of sharks?" She said.

Leon's mind drifted back to the number of creatures that had attacked him in or around the water. "When you've seen as many screwed up mutations as I have, and how messed up the water ones can be, you tend to be nervous around bodies of water." Leon depressed the throttle on his DPD, the black, kick-board sized device sped through the water.

* * *

April 21st 2016, 1900 (0500 WDC Time), Near Changjon, North Korea

* * *

"Harper?" A silky female voice said.

Helena looked up with great difficulty. Her body had been dismantled. She couldn't stand, one of her shoulders was dislocated – a problem that she attempted to resolve but only succeeded in making it worse – her hands had been mangled trying to get her to talk, which she didn't, and she was severely malnourished. "Go fuck yourself." She swore. Her throat was like sandpaper, her lips cracked and bleeding. "I didn't say shit to them and I'm not saying shit to you, Wong."

Ada was sitting beside her, slowly spinning from side to side on a wooden office chair. She frowned. "Helena, this brings me no pleasure. I just wanted you to know that."

Helena managed a weak chuckle that sounded more like she was choking. "I wouldn't say the same if our positions were reversed." Her eyes, the fire that danced in them before was gone, leaving behind the cold ice of a woman beaten; at the end of her rope.

Ada frowned again. "I brought you some soup. They said that they don't want to feed you, or give you water."

Another suffocating like chuckle came from Helena's throat. "I kinda figured that…" She said, her laugh turning to a dry and painful cough. She moaned in pain. "I don't want anything. Just kill me and get it over with."

Ada shifted in her chair, the wood creaking and bouncing off the shack's walls. She peeled the top off the cup of instant noodles, steam rising from the small package and the smell mixed with the scent of dried blood, urine, and fecal matter. "Here, eat something. I even brought a fork for you. I know how you hate chopsticks." She piled a heap of the chicken flavored ramen on the fork and offered it to Helena.

Helena let the smell flow into her nostrils. Just the scent was pure ecstasy. Someone could have butchered her dog from when she was a little girl in front of her and she would have eaten it. "I know what you're doing." She whispered.

"I'm trying to get you to eat something. Open your mouth." Ada replied, moving the fork closer. "Don't make me do the airplane."

"You're trying to get me to break. Classic good cop, bad cop." She chuckled. Again, her body was racked by another dry cough. She managed to compose herself, albeit slowly. "I'm not eating anything."

There was a long silence between them, the only noise audible was the sound of Helena's quiet, ragged breathing. Ada would occasionally stir the cup noodles idly, but she never ate from it. She stared at Helena, her one good eye focusing on her. "If I could I would let you go. You know that?" She said, turning her gaze to the floor.

Helena gave a halfhearted sarcastic smile. "What's stopping you then?"

Ada moved her foot and pressed gently against Helena's knee, eliciting a pained moan from the younger woman. "That," she said, cocking an eyebrow. "You wouldn't make it 10 feet."

"You underestimate me." Helena said, again managing a meek smile. She coughed again, and then her breath hitched in her throat, a sucking sob. "Just kill me already, Ada. Please…" She sobbed. Her throat, her legs, her arms, her body was broken. If she had the strength, she would provoke her; she would try something that would force their hand.

"I can't kill you, Helena. He's coming for you. And I need you to go back with him." She replied.

"Just get one of your cronies to do it for you." Helena spat. There was a pause, she scoffed. "It's cute that you think he's coming for me."

"It's cute that you think I'm working for them." Ada countered, brushing a stray hair out of Helena's face.

"Is that why you stopped wearing your perfume? Because you thought he'd be able to smell it?"

Ada crossed her arms and stood up. "I think that the shit and piss at your feet do a pretty good job of covering it up." She said coldly. She brought her mouth next to Helena's ear and nipped at it gently. "Tell me what the DSO is hiding. Why are you _really_ here?" Her fingertips trailed over Helena's neck, tracing lines in the dirt, blood, and sweat. "Please, Helena."

Helena moaned in pain. She wouldn't lie to herself, she was contemplating telling her. "I don't know anything. I'm sorry." She lied, her eyes locked on the floor. She cried in pain as Ada's fingers gripped her SCM muscle and pulled at it. It was unbearable, like Ada was trying to rip it from her body. She wasn't going to talk, not to her; not to this bitch. She would give her something, however. She screamed, much to her vocal chords' dismay. And for a moment the pain disappeared. If only she would be so lucky.

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2100 (0700 WDC Time), Changjon, North Korea

* * *

Sherry and Leon landed on the beach, the cold, wet sand putting Leon at relative ease. The fact that they were invading a foreign country and if they were discovered would be a declaration of war was keeping him justifiably high-strung. The water was calm, calmer than the two of them would have expected, with only a gentle lapping to hide any noises caused by their intrusion. Trees dotted the beach, remaining motionless aside from the occasional bird that took flight from the branches.

"Ditch the dive gear. We won't be needing it." Sherry whispered, kneeling on the ground and unpacking her rifle from the waterproof bag. She checked to make sure that it was functional, pulling the magazine out and pulling the charging lever back several times. She tapped the magazine on the side of the rifle and shoved it back into its home, yanking the lever back as quietly as she could.

"Seems a little cocky to use the same position as our infil as our exfil." Leon replied, mimicking Sherry's actions. He took a knee and shouldered his rifle, aiming off into the distance. It wasn't a long-range sight, just a simple holographic one with a magnifier. He flicked a switch on the top of the sight and it lit up green; night-vision. He scanned the area, making sure they weren't disturbed.

Sherry scoffed quietly. "My mission, my rules." She reached into her kit bag and pulled out a small satellite phone. She clicked several of the face buttons and the screen lit up, displaying a satellite image of the area.

"What's that?" Leon asked, looking away from his rifle scope for a second.

Sherry pocketed the device. "Little present Hunnigan set me up with before we left. She repositioned a defense satellite for us, so we could have a real-time image of what we're dealing with."

Leon chuckled. "She does too much."

Sherry nodded, chuckling as well. "She does." She rose to her feet, motioning for Leon to do the same. "Come on, we're meeting our contact just over that ridge." She said, pointing in front of them.

A forest lay before them, hiding the ridge that Sherry pointed at. Tall Japanese pines swayed in the light breeze that had picked up. The near silence ate at the two of them, their hearts pounding in their ears. One screw up, one misstep, and they'd be joining Helena. Wherever she might be at that moment…

"You sure he's reliable?" Leon asked as he finished burying most his and Sherry's dive equipment in a hole. "He's not going to turn on us, right?" He stood, brushing his gloved hands off on the wet suit that he still wore.

Sherry shook her head. "In exchange for his assistance in locating Helena, we convinced the CIA to help get him and his family out of the country." She started walking, her head swiveling from nine to three like some human security camera.

Leon kept pace. "That doesn't sound like this could go bad at all."

"He's been promised freedom. Why would he possibly turn on us?"

Leon's mouth pulled at one side. "Brainwashing goes deep."

They walked for what felt like hours, trekking through forest and over small mountains. The most eerie part about what they saw was the stars. There were so many stars. The only place that had any sort of power to it was Pyongyang, and that was some 200 miles to their north; almost everywhere else in the country was pitch black. Living in Washington was great, but there wasn't really any place nearby to star gaze.

"It's really something, isn't it?" Leon said, taking a knee and looking up through a gap in the canopy of trees.

Sherry kept her eyes front before quickly glancing down at her satellite phone. She knelt beside him. "Stay focused, Leon." Her voice as serious as ever.

"You just never see this kind of thing back home. It's beautiful, really." He said, only afterwards registering _what_ he said.

"Yeah," Sherry quipped, taking a sip from her canteen, "it's amazing how the country with the worst human rights record and most heavily oppressed people can seem beautiful."

Leon sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

Sherry shrugged her mouth and shoulders. "I didn't either. I just thought that you should know that."

"Thanks, I feel so enlightened…"

She stood to her feet, motioning Leon to do the same. "Come on, let's go see what the rest of this _beautiful_ country has to offer us."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2030 (0630 WDC Time) Changjon, North Korea

* * *

Ada wiped her hands with a handkerchief she pulled from her jacket pocket. She discarded her signature red dress for something a little more appropriate. She wore a pair of disgustingly expensive high-heeled boots that came up just below her knees, tight leather pants, black as night, a white blouse that plunged at the neckline, and a heavy red leather jacket. She cleaned the back of her hands off, wiping the warm, crimson liquid from her skin.

Helena's neck was various shades of purple, blue, and even green. Her breath, which came ragged before, was now barely squeaking through her swollen airway. Her eyes were closed, not by choice, but by the bruising. Her head rolled forward, an action that caused her more pain than she expected due to the torn muscles that suddenly compressed and stretched. Her brain, flooded with endorphins and many other chemicals, flashed images through her mind, like a video camera on playback.

"Anchovies? What's wrong with you?" Helena wheezed.

Ada looked down at the younger woman. "What?" She said, cleaning underneath her nails with a knife she pulled from her boot.

"I don't feel like going out tonight. What can we binge on Netflix?" Helena said, a smile coming to her face.

 _Helena stands in the doorway to Leon's bedroom; a robe covers her body. Leon sits on the couch, reading some ancient philosophy text probably. She coos his name, catching his attention. She drops her robe, displaying the black lingerie that she whispers is just for him. Leon stands, dropping his book and consequently losing his page. Helena leans on the door frame; she bits her lip and smiles, trailing a hand down her chest and across her stomach before offering it to him. He takes it and she leads him to bed._

 _They make love – or as the layman would call it – they fuck. There is a loud crack as one of the boards in the bedframe breaks. They laugh before continuing._

"Don't ever let me go, Leon." Helena whispered.

"Helena, what are you talking about?" Ada asked, lowering herself down on the chair that she brought in in the first place.

"I know what he did was wrong. From this moment forward I'm severing all contact." She croaked, her voice barely even audible.

"I broke you, didn't I?"

Helena's jaw hung slack, her body unmoving and not making a single sound aside from her meager breath. She spoke, quietly. "I loved him, and he loved me. Why did he do it? Why can't we go back to how it was before?"

Ada shook her head. She knew it wasn't directed at her, but she felt obligated to answer. "Because it can't, Helena; it never can. In what we do, we are haunted by the choices that we make. We are haunted by the ghosts of the dead, those we couldn't save, and those we left behind. If we're lucky, we manage to make it through the day without seeing the ghosts. But everyone knows that ghosts only come out at night, and that's when they cause the most damage." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter and a package of cigarettes. She drew one out with her mouth and sparked the lighter, inhaling the poisonous, noxious fumes. She stared at Helena and blew the smoke in her face.

Helena coughed, only on instinct. "My dad was an asshole. Not my real dad though, my step-dad." Helena breathed, not looking up from the floor.

Ada took another drag on her cigarette. "Yeah? Why don't you tell me about him? I think we've got room in our schedule for a little story-time."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2145 (0745 WDC Time) Changjon Harbour, Changjon, North Korea

* * *

The disgusting, squishy, sucking sound of a knife being removed from someone – or some _thing's_ – neck was an unmistakable sound that Leon was quite familiar with. He pulled his KA-BAR knife from the neck of the Korean guard that he snuck up on and wiped it on his uniform; Leon figured he didn't care if it was dirty. "Sorry, pal. Couldn't have you going to your friends and blabbing about how handsome I am." He grunted as he pulled the body behind a small gap in a stack of crates.

"What's your status, Leon?" Sherry's voice crackled into his ear piece.

Leon looked at the body at his feet and smirked. _'Better than that guy.'_ He thought. "Undetected. How 'bout you?"

Sherry snuck around a formation of shipping containers, their Korean contact in tow; the latter looked especially nervous. She placed her back up against the stack, peeking around the corner, trying to spot any guards. "Our contact says that they moved someone about an hour ago, from a shack in the forest to somewhere in the yard." She paused, giving the contact an 'are-you-sure?' look. He nodded. "From his description, it sounds like our girl." She motioned with her head for him to follow her as she moved quietly, but quickly, across the open yard.

It was your standard shipping yard but like the rest of the landscape they had come across, there was a sinister aspect to it. Containers everywhere stacked five sometimes eight high, were covered with massive grey tarps, presumably to hide them from any satellite scans. Gigantic cranes for moving the containers, had .50 calibre machine guns mounted outside their cockpits. The lights that were for illuminating the work area for the workers, were instead used as spotlights, controlled by guards to find intruders. And, again, like most of North Korea, the whole area was eerily quiet. Leon and Sherry could hear the occasional sounding off guard and the hum of generators, but that was it. No wildlife. No cars. Nothing.

Leon peered around a container and took off into a sprint across the yard, heading towards another row of containers. His feet fell quietly on the concrete, his rifle making the occasional shifting noise against his body. He kept his breathing quiet; they had come this far, no use in getting caught now. He backed up against the cold metal, catching his breath. "He's sure?" He said, swallowing, trying to wet his dry throat.

Sherry scoffed. "She's the only Caucasian in this entire country aside from us _right now_. I trust him."

Their contact was the harbormaster who had grown disenchanted by the Korean regime, desiring a new life for his family. He had met up with them just outside of the chain fencing that surrounded the docks. If he got caught, there was no doubt in Leon or Sherry's minds that he would be executed on the spot. Leon was suspicious of him immediately. It was odd that a civilian would be put in a position with so much responsibility in a country that thrived off oppressing the lower classes.

"Fine. Does he know _where_ she was moved to? Or are we going to have to start cracking open containers?" Leon asked.

Sherry was quiet for a second. "Hold on, I'll ask him."

Leon sighed. He started to relax for a moment. A metallic creaking noise resounded from nearby, slapping him from his moment. He readied his rifle, stepping slowly in the direction of the noise. "Sherry, I think I've got something here. Moving to check it out." He said. He inched his head around the corner, spotting the origin of the sound. A burgundy colored container had been opened, it's large doors revealing a pitch-black interior; rust collected along its bottom and spots dotted the corners at the top. Two soldiers walked out, silently scanning the area. Leon inhaled sharply, then slowly inched his head back out. "Sherry," he started, "west side of the yard, there's an open container. I'm going in for a closer look." His headset crackled to life.

"Hold on, Leon. Wait for me, I'm almost there." Sherry said urgently. "We don't know what's in there." Somehow, she knew he wouldn't listen.

And he didn't. Leon took off, quickly and quietly, just like before. Despite being out of action for some time, his training came back to him in an instant; muscle memory reminding him how to walk, how to act, even how to think. He moved with precision, keeping low but keeping his rifle shouldered, each step pre-thought out just like he had been drilled to do. He swiveled his head in the direction the guards went; he spotted them a safe distance away. His back slid up against an adjacent container, he peered into the open container, making sure no one else was inside.

His eyes widened. "Sherry," he said, holstering his rifle and throwing caution to the wind, "Sherry, I've found her."

Sherry's voice exploded into his ear. "What? Is she alright?" She asked quietly but clearly trying to keep the panicked tone in her voice at bay.

Leon ripped the earpiece out, it hanging limply across his shoulder. Helena wasn't in the best of shape, that was _extremely_ apparent. She had been tied to a wooden chair with zap-straps. Judging by the cutting on his wrists, she had struggled for some time before giving up; he couldn't blame her. "Come on, Helena. You're tougher than this." He whispered, dropping to his knee and placing his fingers gently against the side of her neck.

Helena moaned. Her brow very slightly twitched. Her eyes, if they could even be called eyes, cracked open. Her brown irises intermingled with red blood. Her mouth opened to speak, the overwhelming pain she felt causing her words to slur and catch. "L-Leon," she managed, "what are you-" She coughed, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin.

Leon shushed her, managing a small smirk/smile. "Hey, kid," he whispered, "you're going home."

Helena's face contorted. She sucked in a sob. "Leon…" She cried. "I told them not to come."

Leon shushed her again, making a gentle 'shhh' noise with his mouth. "You know I don't like to listen." His heart pounded in his chest. He checked behind him, then moved behind Helena. Her hands were bound, her wrists raw and looking infected. "Motherfuckers…" He muttered under his breath.

Inside, his blood boiled, threatening to overflow and explode. His heart beat faster, his vision narrowed; his hands started shaking as sweat coated his palms under his gloves. He tried breathing, but the overpowering odor of human waste caused him to take short and shallow breaths. He blinked rapidly, attempting to saturate his suddenly dry eyes.

"Leon?" Sherry said, standing at the entrance to the container.

He panicked. He drew his handgun, the same Five-Seven pistol that he was tested with back at headquarters. Sweat ran into his eyes; he blinked it away. Sherry raised her rifle, pointing it directly at Leon, her face hard as a stone.

"Leon." She said firmly. "Lower it. Now."

Leon shook his head, letting out a hard sigh. "Sorry." He holstered his weapon. "Help me with her binds. I want to get her _and_ us out of here ASAP." He pulled his knife out and gently started cutting away at the zap-straps on her wrists.

Sherry muttered something in Korean and stepped forward, pulling her own knife out. "Leon," Sherry said, pulling back, "we can't move her."

Leon looked out from behind Helena. "What, why?" He asked, cutting the second strap from her wrist.

Sherry breathed a sigh of frustration. "Her knees, Leon. They're shattered. If we try and move her," she paused, shaking her head.

"Sherry," Helena said quietly, staring at the ground, "move. Me."

Sherry opened her mouth to say something. Leon interjected. "Sherry, you heard her. We need to get out of here. Now."

There was a light clattering noise from the front of the container, heavy breathing. Sherry and Leon whirled their heads around and forward respectively. The guide stared at them, his body shaking slightly. The sound of lights, big lights, igniting in the yard caused Leon and Sherry to draw their weapons. They pointed them at the guide. Sherry demanded something in Korean, then again, then again. The guide stood, still shaking. Sherry shoved him back, kneeling to examine something at his feet. She turned and showed it to Leon, her jaw slack and her eyes wide; a syringe.

Audio feedback, like from a microphone, blared over speakers. "Hello, Leon," a female voice said. It had lips of satin and a tongue of silk.

Leon's mouth opened, his feet propelling him outside. "No," he whispered. His breath quickened. "No, no, no, no." He repeated over and over. He didn't need anyone to tell him who the voice belonged to.

"I know what you're thinking," Ada said, "I'm supposed to be dead, annihilated in the blast. For all intents and purposes, I was; 10 kilotons of TNT will do that to you."

Leon whirled around, desperately searching for a target. "Where are you?" He yelled.

"I'm nowhere close to you, Leon. And, I think given your current circumstances, that's a good thing." She chuckled.

The guide collapsed. His body twitching and shaking. His left hand grew, his bones snapping and ligaments popping, then exploded into a mess of blood and tissue. Where there were once fingers, were now claws. He screamed, an inhuman and bloodcurdling scream that shook Leon, Helena, and Sherry to the core. His back arched as large, sharp vertebrae tore through the back of his shirt.

"Leon…" Sherry called, raising her rifle at whatever the guide was changing into.

"The virus, which I am referring to _all_ of them, is really a remarkable, yet terrifying, human creation. In small doses, it can bring the dead back to life, but in large, concentrated doses, can cause uncontrollable mutation. The C-Virus was widely regarded as the 'perfect' creation, and at one time I truly believed that. Until now."

The creature's face elongated, changing into something almost lizard like in appearance. It rose to it's feet, easily having grown twice it's normal size. Its body was hunched, it's legs bent backwards. It's skin was slimy and yellowish green in color. It looked at Sherry, it's eyes slowly opening. To her shock, it muttered something. Impossible to comprehend what it said, but she was certain it said something to her.

"Wesker was an idiot, he could never see the forest through the trees. He was deluded, arrogant, he was _never_ the smartest man in the room; I understand that now." Ada said angrily. "The creature in front of you is one of my own creation. You see, I've been busy since _you_ supposedly killed me."

Leon turned around, the creature stared at him, two glowing red and gold silted eyes drilled into him. Leon raised his rifle, his legs bent and ready to move. "Sherry, get Helena out of here." He yelled to her.

"Oh, and Leon?" Ada said, her voice sounding more and more entertained. "It's good to see you again."

* * *

A/N: This took longer than expected to write. Honestly not sure why. This is the longest chapter (so far) with a total of over 4,500 words. I actually enjoyed writing this chapter more than any of the others; it was cathartic really. Anyway, hope you all like it and I'd love to get some feedback.

Thanks,

J.


	13. Gift For You

February 10th 2016, 1430, Pyongyang, North Korea

* * *

Yuk Jeong-Sil sat in a warm, brightly lit office. The décor looked like it was pulled directly from the 1960s; an era some 30 years his senior. Grey carpet, a large brown leather sectional hugged the wall behind him, the desk was L-shaped and made with brown wood – more likely particle board – with metal legs, and the chair that he sat in, as well as the one behind the desk, was a bright yellow, almost offensively so. The wallpaper was a mint color, and behind the desk were four World War 2 era rifles; they appeared to be of Russian design. There were no windows in the office, and the lighting was incredibly bright. The whole room was an affront to the senses.

Yuk was nervous; he sucked in a breath of stale air. His palms sweat profusely, and so did the rest of his body, as the large dark spot from the small of his back all the way to his neck showed. He tapped his feet, desperately trying to hear _something_ in this terrifyingly intimidating room. Soldiers had come to his job and ordered him to come with them; noncompliance usually got one shot, and he had a family. He had been brought in and told to wait, that someone would be with him shortly; that was over an hour ago. His closely cropped black hair stuck matted to his forehead, and his brown eyes burned from the light. He wiped his brow with his sleeve; it was incredibly warm in this room.

The door to the office swung open with a creak, light footfalls entered the room, followed by a waft of exotic fruity smells. A woman walked in. The left side of her face sagged and her eye on the same side glowed a menacing dark red. Her lips were tinted a bright shade of red, almost pink, and they drooped on the left, but held the hint of a smile on the right. She wore a long red dress with a slit on the side, running dangerously close to her hip. It had white lotus flowers scattered throughout the top and the collar was tied high up on her neck with a series of black bows.

She sat down in her chair, crossing her legs quite dramatically. The dress flowed and exposed her entire right leg. She flipped through a file folder, glancing up at Yuk. "You look nervous." She said in Korean. "Don't be."

Her voice caressed his ears, instantly putting him at ease. An invisible weight was lifted from his body as he noticeably sat straighter in his seat. "I'm not nervous." He said, his voice quivering. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

The woman looked up, her eyes fixating on him. "Why do you wish to leave this lovely country?" She asked, her face unflinchingly neutral. She wove her fingers together and placed them delicately on the desk.

Yuk gasped, immediately jolting from his chair. He dropped to his knees, bowing to the woman. "I would never. This country is my home; I would never commit such an injustice. Such thoughts are traitorous and unclean." He rambled. His forehead touched the floor, desperately begging for his forgiveness. The truth was, he did want to leave; to defect. He had heard stories, read books smuggled in from the outside, watched movies that would put him in jail, or worse. He knew that he deserved a better life, his family deserved a better life. "Please," he begged, "I did not think the things that you claim."

The woman let out a quiet sigh. "We found your illegal paraphernalia. The movies, the books, all of it. Your family, including your children, is being led to the mines where they will spend the rest of their lives in hard labour."

Yuk remained on the floor, his breath caught in his throat. He let out a whimpering sob, then descended into full out, hysterical crying. "Please," he said between sobs, "please don't punish them for something _I_ have done. Please…" He stood up, stumbling around to behind the desk. The woman simply rotated her chain to face him, her face never showing the least bit of concern. He dropped to his knees, again bowing to her directly. "Please, I will do anything that you want. Anything." He pleaded.

The woman smiled. "Anything?" She asked, her voice taking on a sensual yet sinister tone. He nodded. She chuckled, lowering herself to his level. She pulled at his chin with her left hand, forcing him to look at her. Her lips curved into a lopsided smile, her red eye boring into him. "I might have a use for you." She cooed, pulling him to his feet with one hand.

Yuk's entire body shook with both fear and sadness. He hadn't noticed before, but the arm she held him with was paler than her other arm. Come to think of it, her whole body was substantially pale; and…cold? "Anything," He said again.

She slowly let go of him, gently tracing her fingers down the side of his cheek. Then, she swiftly, with an inhuman grace grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a rough kiss. Yuk gasped, desperately trying to pull himself away from her. Her tongue snaked into his mouth; it was longer than expected, much longer. Her grip was incredibly strong, easily pinning his body to hers. She _finally_ let go of him, shoving him away hard. Her tongue, her lizard-like tongue, easily 12 inches in length, snaked back into her mouth. She smiled. The woman turned around, her hips swaying intensely as she slowly walked around the desk. She skipped her fingers along the wood, her nails making loud clicking sounds, staring at him the whole time.

"There's an American spy in our glorious country. His name is David. He's pretending to be a tourist, trying to tell the," she sighed and raised her hands, making air quotes, "'real, true story about North Korea. I don't know the _real_ reason he's here, but I want you to seek him out and get close to him. Do this for me, and your family will be safe."

Yuk's entire body felt different. He felt…warm, and it wasn't just because of the lighting in the room, but it felt like there was fire underneath his skin. His vision blurred for a moment, and he closed his eyes and rubbed his head. He reopened his eyes; his vision was crisper than ever. He could see every glob of dripped paint on the walls, the imperfections on the faux-wood desk stood out like bright lights, and her skin, her pale, dead skin devoid of any signs of life, was unnaturally porcelain smooth. He could hear the gulls from the coast which was over 50 miles away, he could hear the machinery of the harbor in Changjon, over 100 miles away. He could hear the heartbeat of the woman in front of him; slow, dead slow, hardly having anything that could be called rhythmic. It was all so overwhelming, he clutched his head, moaning in pain. Then as quickly as it started, it stopped. He slowly removed his hands from his ears. "What have you done to me?" He asked, looking in her eyes.

She smiled, that same lopsided, seductive smile. "I've given you a gift. There will come a time when you will open it." Her faced twitched disturbingly, like something was desperately trying to claw its way out. It pulled at her mouth and cheeks with sharp, jagged claws, tearing at muscles and sinew. Her smile turning into a smirk. She tucked her left hand behind her back, bringing her other arm at a 90-degree angle, her hand pointing towards the ceiling. "And you won't ever be the same."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2200 (0800 WDC Time) Changjon Harbour, Changjon, North Korea

* * *

Leon's rifle belched a gout of fire and lead as he turned on his feet, running to his right. "Sherry, get Helena out of here." He screamed, expertly reloading his rifle in record time. He pulled the trigger again, more shots rang out into the cold spring night.

The creature roared. It was both high and low pitched, human and animal, but was wholly terrifying. It charged Leon, it's large, tree-trunk like arms pumping for momentum, it's mouth open wide, displaying two rows of sharp teeth that itched to have a taste of Kennedy. It swung its fist at him, missing him by mere inches as Leon rolled under the attack. It swung its other fist behind it, a wild backhand, again missing Leon as he slid backwards. More bullets struck the creature's skin, but seemed to have no effect.

Leon exhaled slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the threat to his life, his hands remained dead steady. He fired again, each round finding a home in the creature's face. To his satisfaction, it reeled backwards, shielding its face with its hand. It let out a low growl that slowly turned into a roar. "Aw, shit," he said, taking off through the yard. He planted his foot onto a container, slowing himself down momentarily before grunting and kicking off, sprinting between two towering stacks of containers. Loud footfalls resonated behind him as containers flew up and crashed to the ground, causing him to falter.

"Leon, is everything okay?" Hunnigan yelled into his ear piece. This was the first time she had contacted him since they landed.

"Everything is fine, Hunnigan. Why do you ask?" He panted sarcastically, firing his rifle blindly behind him. A container smashed down length-wise on top of another one to his immediate right, then toppled over like a redwood tree. He stutter-stepped, grunting and rolling underneath the fallen container.

"I'm picking up a large BOW signal right on top of you." She yelled. Leon could hear the furious typing on her keyboard.

Leon ran up a group of crates, stacked like stairs, landing with a roll on top of another set of containers. "You don't say?" He said sarcastically. Rotating as he rolled, he knelt and took aim, firing his rifle at the creature's face. Finally, a good sign: an explosion of blood from one of its eyes followed by another scream gave Leon renewed spirit.

"Hey, Hunnigan?" Leon said, his footsteps resounding on the cold metal. He grunted, sprinting up the fallen container.

"What is it?"

"You ever hear the saying 'a day late and a dollar short' before?"

"Yes, why?"

"No reason."

* * *

Sherry's breath came heavy. "Okay, Helena," she said, licking her suddenly dry lips only to realize that her whole mouth had turned into a desert, "I'm going to move you, it's going to hurt. A lot. I'll try and make this as quick as possible, but I-"

Helena grabbed her collar, the grip of a desperate woman was apparent. "You're rambling. Get this over with." She said, gritting her teeth tightly and preparing for the pain. It was an _elegant_ and _exquisite_ pain, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Helena had never felt pain like this. She could feel her kneecaps, what was left of them, rub together, roughly cutting her muscles like a serrated knife through a slab of meat. She screamed in anguish as Sherry hoisted her up to her feet. Sherry grabbed her arm, her hurt arm. "Ah, fuck!" Helena screamed. "Not that one, not that one." Her body started flooding with endorphins, making her feel more alive than she had in weeks.

Sherry winced. She could practically _feel_ the other woman's pain. "Sorry…" She whispered. Sherry tried again, lifting her off her feet and positioning her on her shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" She yelled, gripping Sherry's shoulder so tightly she felt the pain shoot up from her hand and into her neck. Her breath quickened, she let out painful groans and light cries. Tears flowed from her good eye, the other too swollen to function. Finally, she was up, hoisted on Sherry's shoulders like a child.

Sherry grunted, shouldering her rifle with one hand. She had slung Helena over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, using the waistband of her tights to hold her so she wouldn't fall. It was at that moment she realized something was missing. "Where's your suit?" Sherry asked, checking both corners before exiting the container.

Helena moaned again, holding on to Sherry with renewed vigor. "It's gone. They took it off as soon as they captured me. I have no clue where it is now."

Sherry started to make for the forest, the same way they came in. Helena moaned again.

"The docks," she whimpered, "there's a boat there. Keys are in it."

"How do you know that?" Sherry said, easily dismissing the statement as hallucinatory rambling.

"She told me; Ada said there was one there. Told me that was our only way out." Helena replied. "What are you going to do? Hump me back through five miles of forest to an extract?"

Sherry scoffed, rounding another corner. She could hear Leon's rifle and the screaming of whatever that _thing_ was closer than she would have liked. She hoped that he was still alive. "I'd rather do that than trust _her_." Sherry spat.

Helena exclaimed in pain as Sherry took another corner too quickly, causing her knees to twist. "Sherry," she begged, "please."

Sherry pulled the trigger on her rifle as two Korean soldiers came sprinting around the corner. They were most likely running from the freak-show that they had just bared witness to, but she couldn't take any chances. Three gunshots exploded from right on top of her, causing Sherry's heart to jump past her throat and into her brain. Helena had drawn Sherry's pistol, the Five-Seven, from her back and fired at two soldiers who cleared the corner.

"I got your back." Helena mumbled.

Sherry was impressed. The woman was severely injured, not even able to stand on her own, and she was still able to fire a gun with pinpoint accuracy. She was one hell of an agent. She cleared the next corner, then the next, and the one after that, quickly and efficiently making her way towards the dock.

Sherry had the feeling that this was a trap. She pictured flashing neon lights around it, clearly labeling it 'TRAP' in big capital letters. 'Come on in and visit the TRAP!' She would get in, turn the key, then 'BOOM', a nice big pile of Sherry, Leon, and Helena confetti; oh, what a way to go.

* * *

A/N: Well this took longer than expected to release… Super, super busy as of late and finding it hard to slot out time to write anything. This was originally going to be longer, but I shaved off ~600 words just so I could release this; they'll end up in the next chapter. Which will hopefully be out before Christmas…. Anyway, hope you all like the chapter and would love some reviews on it.

See you guys soon,

J.


	14. Super Freak

April 21st 2016, 2210 (0810 WDC Time) Changjon Harbour, Changjon, North Korea

* * *

"Leon," Hunnigan screamed into his earpiece, "what's going on? Are you okay?"

The creature had wedged its crocodile like snout into a container and lifted it off the ground like some prehistoric dinosaur. It was an affront to nature, really. The head of a crocodile and the body and arms of a human bodybuilder; somewhere in Hell, Umbrella scientists were blowing up in their pants. It clawed at the metal, desperately trying to pull itself further through a space too small for itself, it's broad shoulders being the only thing saving Leon from a most painful death.

Leon, who clung to the lip of the container like a sloth, realized that if he moved like one, he would be dead. He hoisted himself up, balancing dangerously on less than a few inches of space. He leapt with a grunt towards an adjacent container, landing and rolling on his side; relative safety for the moment. "Hey, Hunnigan," Leon said, twisting his body and aiming his rifle, "maybe not right now, huh?" The container stack he was on shook viciously, a cacophonous metal on metal banging sound resounded throughout the night air, if he had been standing he'd probably have toppled over.

The container that had been lodged on the BOW's head flew into the air, easily 30 feet. It seemed lighter than air, a fact that Leon knew to be incredibly untrue. "Oh, for fuck's sake…" he grunted, rolling as fast as he could to his right, away from the edge. He managed to cover quite a bit of distance before the container came crashing down, mere inches from his body. Then it started to topple. Leon scrambled to his feet, the creaking of the metal and the screaming of the beast causing his heart to beat like a bass drum. The container crashed down behind him, sending him stumbling back down to his knees. The surface he was on shifted violently, making him lose his already questionable balance. He stumbled, his body dangerously close to the edge. He leaned away from the frightening 15-foot drop, swinging his arms in an almost comedic manner to counter his momentum. The container shifted again, this time the farthest end crashed to the ground.

Leon lost his balance, falling to his back with a loud thud. His head bounced off the metal with a sickening crack; immediately his vision became fuzzy. He flailed wildly, trying to gain some purchase so he could stop sliding around, but he couldn't feel his hands and he was seeing double, and he soon found himself suddenly falling towards the concrete ground. He rolled in midair, and landed; hard. He held his arms out in front of him to brace his fall, but he had no idea how close to the ground he was. He impacted cold concrete, pain shot through his hands, up to his elbows, and set his shoulders and neck ablaze. His face impacted the ground next, his nose popping, and his forehead splitting open; one could almost hear the cartoonish 'SPLAT' sound effect.

He moaned, rolling on to his side, grunting in pain as he put pressure on his shoulder. _'That's fucked'_ he thought. He started crawling backwards, using only his feet. He pulled his rifle close to him, clutching it like it was a rope stopping him from falling off a cliff. With great difficulty, he shouldered the weapon and squinted through the blood running into his eyes. He shook his head; bad idea. His brain ricocheted around inside his skull and it sent lightning bolts of pain all the way down his neck and into his already stinging eyes.

The creature stepped around the corner, its red and yellow eyes locking on to Leon. It reared its head back and roared. Its large frame stomped towards him, faster than something its size should be able to move. Leon weakly rose to his feet. He leveled the rifle at the thing, his twinning vision making it difficult to aim as he tried to figure out which one was the real one. He fired, the rifle kicking back into his shoulder and sending renewed pain up his side. He fired again, gritting his teeth as more and more pain flooded his body. Finally, as expected, his arm went dead. The rifle fell from his hand uncontrollably, his arm laying limp at his side. Leon growled, hesitantly pulling his knife from its sheath.

"Come on then, you son of a bitch!" He yelled, taking up a hazy defensive stance.

It leapt into the air, both its arms high above its head. Leon sprinted underneath it, his gait severely affected by the injuries he had sustained, but still managing enough speed to get out of the way. It crashed down behind him, its hands pummeling into the ground. Leon stumbled again, losing his balance and toppling back down to the cold concrete.

"Shit," he breathed, backing up weakly against a nearby container. He held his knife out, still defiant of the fate that stood menacingly before him. "Well," he coughed, spitting up a dangerous amount of red liquid, "get on with it, then."

* * *

Sherry placed Helena down as gently as she could in the lavish white leather seating of the red, white, and blue cigarette boat, being careful not to injure her any further or cause her any more pain. The blood from her wounds stained the cowhide and dripped onto the metallic floor. Sherry propped her up in the corner of the backseat and shoved the three magazines for her handgun into her lap.

"Here," she said, "hang onto this for me. I'll be back soon."

Helena ejected the magazine from the gun and slammed another one in its place. Despite her injuries, she was still able to load and fire a gun with trained precision, a fact that she had demonstrated several times over on their way to the boat. "What are you going to do?" She asked shakily.

Sherry looked at Helena, her face almost as if she was asking for permission. Her eyebrows lifted ever-so-slightly as she removed her Kevlar vest and other gear from her upper body. "What I have to." She said, dropping the vest in the boat.

"Sherry," Helena whispered, "don't do it." She reached out to grab her arm, to try and keep her from leaving, but she was far too weak to hold onto her as Sherry shrugged her off. "Sherry, you can't." She said, grunting in pain as she tried to move.

Sherry unzipped her wetsuit, revealing a grey short sleeve compression shirt, and tied the arms around her waist. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Helena." She said as nicely as she could. The sound of gunfire erupted into the night sky again, followed by the crashing of metal, then a roar. "Helena, I have to go." She said, her voice audibly quaking.

Helena's eye fluttered closed, then jolted open. "Go," she whispered, "go, go!" She pointed the handgun behind Sherry, ready to defend herself if necessary. She watched Sherry, an inhuman grace about her, her body moving like smoke. In an instant, she was gone, a puff of black and grey smoke appearing when she once stood. She appeared on top of a container, 15 to 20 feet up, across the yard. She took one last glance back at her, a reassuring look to make sure she was okay, then she disappeared again.

* * *

A cheeky smile was plastered on his face; so, this was how he was going to die? The creature growled at him, its gaping maw dripping with a disgusting mixture of fluids, like it was imagining what he would taste like before it finally swallowed him whole. Leon never really put much thought into how he would go out, he always pushed the thought from his mind when it entered; it distracted him. But now that he was faced with it, faced with the monster that would finally finish him, he wanted it a different way.

And he got his wish.

The creature's body lifted off the ground as something impacted it with enough force to send it flying off to the side. It skidded to a painful halt several dozen feet away from Leon, unmoving. Leon looked to his right, expecting to see a tank or a rocket launcher or something big enough to knock it off its feet; he didn't think to look right in front of him.

"Are you alright?" Sherry asked, kneeling beside him. He looked bad, really bad. She glanced over at where the creature lay. It was still not moving, she had driven both her feet into its head as hard as she could. It was strong enough to knock it out, but she didn't think she would throw it as far as she did.

Leon blinked through blood, raising a hand to wipe it away. "Sherry…" he trailed off, wincing at the sudden ringing in his ears. "What the hell…" He trailed off, grunting as she grabbed his arm, helping him stand. He draped one arm over her shoulders; he was surprised at her strength.

"It's a long story, Leon. Can you walk?" She asked, grabbing his rifle off the ground with her free hand. She heard the creature start to stir.

Leon groaned, putting the full weight on his feet. He felt his left leg start to buckle, but he quickly re-situated himself. His vision was still blurred, his right arm was still dead, and the blood still dribbled down from his forehead. He looked back at the BOW on the ground, it slowly bringing itself to its feet. "Don't think I have much of a choice." He said, taking the gun from Sherry's hands and shouldering it as best he could.

Sherry grabbed the barrel and pushed it down, shaking her head. "There's a boat, across the yard; Helena's in it. Get it ready to go, I'll be right behind you."

"What? Are you serious? That thing will kill you, Sherry!" He yelled. He tried to raise his rifle again, but she kept it pointed towards the ground. "Sherry, no."

She pushed him away. She succeeded in not knocking him over, but just barely, as he stumbled to steady himself; she was stronger than she remembered. "Leon," she said, turning around and facing the now standing creature. She looked back over her shoulder. "Run," she growled.

Her body disappeared into a puff of black and grey smoke, reappearing behind the thing's leg. Her body spun, her leg impacting its knee; there was a loud crack. It dropped, howling in pain, as it swatted at the young woman. She disappeared, reappearing on top of a container slightly above it. Sherry jumped, driving both her feet into its head, sending it crashing back down to the ground.

Leon watched in awe, silent amazement as the little girl from Raccoon City wiped the floor with this nightmare. He thought that maybe he _had_ hit his head too hard, that he was already dead, that he was being slowly digested right this second while his mind played what he'd wanted to happen. Granted, if that was the case, it would have looked nothing like what was happening now.

"Leon," He heard Hunnigan say over his earpiece, "Leon, what's going on? Talk to me, dammit."

"Hi, Hunnigan. Everything's fine here, we're all fine here, everything's good. How're you?" He said, not thinking.

"That's not funny, Leon. What's the status of the BOW?"

Leon watched as Sherry grabbed the BOW by the leg, and swung its massive frame like a baseball bat, slamming it into a stack of containers, causing them to collapse on top of it.

Leon shrugged his mouth. "Handled, I think." He said in an amused tone.

He saw her look up at him, a scowl on her face; he should have been running. He turned on his heels and took off in a slightly broken gait towards their escape route. He made it only a few feet before there was a 'whooshing' sound beside him.

"I thought I told you to run?" Sherry said, draping on of Leon's arms over her shoulders.

"What the hell happened back there?" He asked, ignoring what she had said.

"I told you, it's a long story."

"Did you kill it?" He asked.

She shook her head. "No, it's too strong. I'll tell you later." Her earpiece had fallen out of her ear; she quickly replaced it. "Hunnigan, we're moving the extraction point. Degrees North, East." She paused, listening as Hunnigan rambled on about something that probably wasn't relevant to their current situation. "Hunnigan, just _do it_." Sherry yelled, yanking the earpiece out again.

Leon cocked an eyebrow. "So, what's the plan?" Again, he grunted as Sherry forced him to quicken his pace.

Sherry looked over her shoulder. "We take the boat, drive out to sea, and wait." The creature stirred, the creaking and groaning of metal as it lifted its massive body out from under the containers.

Leon glanced back with her. "Wait? What if this thing can swim?" He asked, unknowingly quickening his pace. "I don't feel like being lizard chow tonight."

Suddenly, in one smooth motion, Sherry swept her arms under Leon's body, and threw him over her shoulder. She moved faster, seemingly having no issues with the added weight. "You're moving too slow." She chided.

Leon grunted, letting out a wince as his injured shoulder was tweaked in a direction it wasn't happy with. He knew she had some abilities granted by the G-Virus; but _this_? What he saw her do tonight was near superhuman. He was both terrified and thankful. Terrified because he had seen too many sickening transformations and the thought of seeing Sherry's body break and distort made him sick; and thankful that she was here, with him, saving his washed-up ass. "Sorry," he said, slurring his words, "I'll try to not get my ass kicked by some freaky, Killer Croc rip-off next time."

The creature pushed itself up through its metal prison, a low growl in its throat quickly rising into a full-blown roar. Then it started to run. Its arms pumping for momentum, its mouth wide and dripping with saliva.

Leon glanced up, his heart jumping into his throat. "Sherry," he warned, "must go faster."

Sherry quickened her pace, now grunting and panting as she ran. "I'm going as fast as I can."

Leon growled. "Leave me." He said. "I'm slowing you down; take Helena and get the hell out of here."

"What? No way." Sherry yelled.

"The mission was to save Helena. Leave me and get her out of here."

"Get fucked, Leon." She spat back.

"God dammit, Sherry! Just-"

A cacophonous sound rang out, sounding like someone had fired a cannon. The creatures head exploded, sending blood, brain, and bone splashing over the cold concrete. Its upper jaw was gone, only bloody flesh attached with an almost non-existent bit of sinew remained. Its lower jaw went slack, cracking against the ground as its massive body tumbled with the momentum of its movement. Its arms twitched, the last impulses firing to no effect.

Sherry had stopped, turning around to view what had happened. Leon struggled out of her grip and off her shoulder, again grunting as he stood on his own. "What the hell was that?" He asked, looking around.

Sherry squinted, her forehead creasing as she frowned. "Sounded like a .50 caliber rifle." She scoffed, smiling in amusement and frustration. "Seems like your 'girlfriend' is still looking out for you."

Leon scowled. He silently wished that she wasn't. Part of him wanted to get obliterated by the same rifle that did in the BOW, just to show Sherry that she was wrong, that Ada wanted him dead as much as anyone else who he had pissed off. But she clearly had the two of them in her sights, and she wasn't firing. "Looks like it…" Leon trailed off.

Sherry tapped him on the shoulder, lifting his arm up over her. "Come on, Leon. We need to get back to Helena."

* * *

Ada removed her eye from the scope of the anti-material rifle. Meticulously, she stood the spent cartridge up on its tail; kill-brass. She smiled, staring down from her perch high-above the container yard. "Oh, Leon," she breathed. She traced the side of her burnt face with her fingertips, a coy smile coming to her lips.

 _"Why don't you kill them?"_

Ada chuckled. "Because It would be too easy, dear."

 _"They are still a threat to our plan. With them in play…"_

"Calm down," she cooed, "we will deal with them in time; don't you worry."

 _"The field test was a failure. It was unable to kill them."_

She frowned. "No," she said curtly, "it was not a failure. Indeed, he couldn't kill them, but it appeared that he retained a base intellect when he changed."

 _"What are you getting at?"_

She placed her thumb to her red lips inquisitively. "Give the product to a trained killer…" She started.

 _"I understand now…"_

Ada smiled, her eye flashing a deep shade of red. "See you back home, Leon. I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2300 (0900 WDC Time) Somewhere in the Sea of Japan

* * *

Sherry slowed the boat to a stop, the powerful engine rumbling to a gentle purr. She turned the key and killed the engine, leaving the three of them in silence, the only noise coming from the lapping of the waves on the hull. She reached into her gear pack and pulled out a small, square device, pressing several buttons on it. A green light starting blinking weakly; Sherry placed it beside her and rose from her seat.

"Help should be here soon." She said. "How's she doing?"

Leon nodded his head slowly, trying not to cause his massive headache to get even worse. "She's unconscious; passed out from shock. Moving her must have done it." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He felt warm liquid and pulled his hand away; he was bleeding again. He cursed.

"Here's better than there. How are _you_ doing?" Sherry asked, handing him a gauze pad from her bag.

Leon took it and pressed it to his head. "I think I've got a concussion, my ears are ringing, my eyes are all starry, I'm bleeding and I can't stop it, and my shoulder is pretty jacked up. Other than that, I'm fine." He swallowed, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry. "You wanna talk about what happened back there?"

"Not particularly."

"Well I do."

Sherry sighed. "It's a long and complicated story, Leon…" She breathed.

"And we're in the middle of the ocean. I think we've got time." Leon responded.

Sherry opened her mouth and inhaled to say something, but quickly closed it. "Quicker than I expected." She whispered.

Leon cocked an eyebrow. "Huh? What did you say?"

The boat rocked violently; Sherry braced herself against the side, almost losing her footing. Waves kicked up around them, expanding out from a large central point, just off the bow of the boat. Streams of bubbles burst through the surface. The low moaning of metal beneath the surface sounded like a dying animal, and Leon had to keep reminding himself that this was their rescue team. The large, jet-black submarine rose out of the water, running completely dark.

Helena stirred on her bench, whimpering slightly as she regained consciousness. Her head lolled to the side, her eyelids fluttering open. "L…Leon?" She whispered, moving to sit up.

Leon quickly stopped her. "Stay down, Helena. You're okay." He said, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Are we…are we…" She muttered.

Leon nodded his head. "We're safe now. _You're_ safe now. We're going home."

Helena closed her eyes, fighting unconsciousness with every bit of her mind. "She's alive, Leon…" She said slowly. "Ada's alive…"

Leon's nose twitched, his mouth drawing thin. "I know, Helena. I know she is." His heart beat into his throat, both in fear, anger, and relief. He had thrown all semblances of feelings for that woman out the window a long time ago; she wasn't healthy for him. But…as sickening as it was, she still held a small place in his heart, so incredibly small. He couldn't deny what her voice had done to him; it brought him back to better days, when he was younger. He remembered her kiss. The way her lips felt on his back in Raccoon, the way her 'death' had affected him, and the sounds of her screams as the fire engulfed her body.

"Leon," Sherry called, bringing him to attention.

Leon looked up. Several figures were making their way off the submarine and onto their boat. He panicked at first, and then realized they were Navy. They wore all black; not an inch of skin was showing, night vision goggles covered their eyes. Two moved over to him, carrying a stretcher, and Leon moved out of their way so they could work. He looked over at Sherry, and despite everything that had happened he had a grin on his face. "Hunnigan?" He asked knowingly.

Sherry exhaled quickly out her nose, as if laughing lightly. "Hunnigan," she responded, nodding her head.

* * *

A/N: WOW! This one wasn't easy… I really lost a drive to write while I was working on this one. Couple that with the work pressure (one of these days I'll stop using this as an excuse…) and I had almost no time to work on this one… I'm going to really make a stronger concentrated effort to fine time to work on this story; really I am. As always, I'd love feedback, things are going to start picking up now. We're on the rollercoaster.

Thanks, everyone,

J.


	15. Shots Fired

April 22nd 2016, 0130, Somewhere beneath the Sea of Japan

* * *

The metal of the submarine creaked and moaned, giving off the feeling that Leon might've just boarded his coffin. He supposed that it was better than the alternative; having hot needles shoved into the tips of his fingers while some North Korean General yelled in his ear non-stop. He rolled over in his cot, wincing as he looked down at his freshly bandaged shoulder.

"You okay up there?" Sherry said. She had bunked below him.

They had been given private quarters when they arrived. Much to both of their surprise, the room even had a private shower and bathroom. The color scheme was to be expected; grey and silver were the dominating colors, with splashes of copper and black piping to accent. Two dim lights covered by mesh cages sat tucked away on the same walls the cots were on, with a slightly larger, brighter light swung from a chain on the ceiling. The cots weren't comfortable, but they had a pillow, blanket, and a mattress, so as far as the two of them were concerned, this was the 4 Seasons.

Helena had been taken to the Infirmary where they were seeing to her injuries. They managed to get her stable and re-hydrated, but they had done all they could with what they had. Per the doctor, she was lucky to still be breathing.

Leon poked his head over the side, his forehead had been bandaged up, and his nose had been discreetly splinted; as in, he wasn't walking around with two redwood trees on either side of his face. It was still noticeable, much to his dismay. Sherry was sitting with her back pressed up against the wall, her knees almost pulled up to her chest, her book resting on her thighs. It looked incredibly uncomfortable. Compared to Leon, she was immaculate; she had walked away without a scratch. Hell, she could have been hurt, but her advanced healing had seen to fixing it.

"Yeah," he said, swinging his feet over the side and dropping down, "just my shoulder; it's no big deal." He heard Sherry scoff.

"Yeah, It's just your shoulder, and your nose, and your head, and the concussion. Not to mention the hairline fractures in your ribs and sternum. Jesus, Leon, no one doubts your badassery." She said, closing her book.

Leon smirked slightly. "Hey, we can't all be superhuman."

Sherry laid down, propping her head up on her elbow. They were both wearing standard US Navy fatigues; the blue and black reminded Leon of his Raccoon City Police Department uniform. She chewed at her lip, unconsciously tapping her fingers against the itchy mattress. "So," she started, trailing off nervously, "do you want to talk about that?"

"Talk about what?" Leon asked, pulling the only chair in the room over and sitting down, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. "The fact that we just committed a declaration of war, risking billions of lives to save only one?" He let out a breath, contemplating what his next words were going to be. "Or that you went toe-to-toe with a creature out of an Umbrella scientist's best dream?"

Sherry scoffed again, smiling nervously. "That's putting it on a pedestal." She replied, scratching the back of her head, almost embarrassed at the statement.

"Well, what happened out there then?" Leon said quietly, trying to take on a more supportive tone.

Sherry swallowed, not at all making an effort to hide it. "When Jake and I were captured in China, Neo Umbrella used our blood to perfect the C-Virus."

Leon nodded at that. "Yeah, I thought that was common knowledge among those who were supposed to know."

Sherry paused, not even breathing. She wondered if she should continue. "They injected me with a prototype virus, something that I'd never seen before." She continued, her voice wavering. At that very second, Sherry could feel the virus moving through her system. She could feel it in her muscles, her lungs, her heart, her entire body. She knew she was still human, something that she had to tell herself every morning, but she felt more like a walking time bomb.

Leon perked up, his brow creasing. "A prototype virus?" He asked carefully, not wanting to bombard her with questions. "I thought the only virus that came out of the China incident was the C-Virus? And even that's been quiet; we haven't had a confirmed case of that for months.

"We had a few a couple of months back, but nothing the BSAA couldn't handle." She replied. She bit her lip. "I don't know exactly what it was or how they made it, but it made me feel…stronger." Sherry admitted, sitting up herself, eyeing Leon carefully. "I'm faster than I was before, stronger, more alert-"

"I get it," Leon said, holding up a hand, "you're Supergirl."

Sherry frowned, dropping her head. "More like Blonsky..." She mumbled.

"Who?" Leon asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Sherry shook her head, composing herself a second later. "I don't know what the plan was for me; maybe it was to create another one of those things. You remember? The thing that chased Jill through Raccoon City; the big guy."

"Nemesis," Leon responded, shaking his head negatively. He had read about it but thankfully, he, Claire, and Sherry, had never encountered it during their escape. "Judging from all the details that Jill managed to remember, she had…intimate knowledge of that thing up close."

The two of them remained silent for a long while, only the sound of the creaky submarine breaking the silence. Leon thought back to when he first met Claire. God, she was cute; still was. There wasn't much time to really talk or get to know her as well as he would have liked, seeing as they were running for their lives and all. After they had jumped from the train, he pushed Claire away, an action that afterwards he held in quite high standing. Though, at the time, his heart had bled from the words he used. Him and Sherry had been picked up by US government agents, with Sherry being taken and him being blackmailed to work for them. He tried to think about what would have happened if Claire had stayed with them. Would she have been taken too? Or would they have killed her, like they threatened to do him? He shook the thought from his mind, not wanting to imagine where he would be right now if it wasn't for that redhead.

"When did all this start to happen? Was it right away? Who else knows about this?" He understood that this took a lot of courage to tell him, but Leon couldn't help himself anymore.

Sherry winced at the sudden attack. She had expected Leon to question her, but not as quickly as he did. "It didn't happen right away. Hell, it didn't even happen in the same time-frame as China. It was eight months later when I was on assignment in Iraq that an RPG hit the convoy I was travelling in; it killed everybody." She trailed off, remembering the painful memories. Gunfire, the screams of the soldiers trapped under the Humvees, the smell of their skin burning, the vicious and abrasive Arabic that still echoed in her ears before she slept.

"Everybody but you." Leon finished for her. "I remember hearing about that. I was so worried we lost you." His memory flashed back to that day. He remembered walking into the office; everybody was so somber and quiet, even for a Monday. When he found out, he remembered why he kept that bottle of vodka in his desk drawer.

Sherry nodded hesitantly. "Internal Affairs tried to charge me with treason; they said I leaked information to the enemy resulting in the blown operation. Thankfully the DSO pulled some strings to keep everything quiet to save my dignity and luckily the charges didn't stick." She managed a slight smile. "But there wasn't any way I was going to escape this unscathed unless I gave them something."

"And that's when you told them about what _really_ happened." Leon stated. He had a knack for knowing which direction a conversation was going. Much like his humor, he considered this a positive trait. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have testified on your behalf; told them you weren't capable of something like that."

Sherry ran a hand through her blonde hair. She had let it down after she had showered, and long, wet strands clumped together and stuck to her neck and collarbone. "Believe me, Leon, I would have if they let me. But the whole interrogation was kept strictly confidential and besides," she paused yet again, "you were too close to me. All it would have done was put a target on your back, too."

Leon cocked his head. "Why would I have a target put on my back?" He asked.

Sherry licked her dry lips. "Because they would've looked at everything you'd ever done, all the good that you did. Anything that you would've done in the future would be endlessly scrutinized; they would've strangled you in red tape!"

Leon crossed his arms, trying his best to hide his frustration. And the pain. "IA _are_ a bunch of pencil pushing jerks, aren't they?"

Sherry nodded slowly in agreement. "Except all of our investigators are Senior Agents; a bunch of people with egos bigger than the building. Always trying to judge people when they find a different way to change a lightbulb…"

"So, who did you end up telling?" Leon asked; he was dying to know.

"Not many people know. Out of everyone in the DSO, the Director knows, a few of the IA officers know, so does Hunnigan, Claire, Chris, and now, you," she paused, chewing on her bottom lip. "Helena knows too."

Leon threw his arms out to the side, wincing as he felt a jolt of pain through his arm. "You told Helena? And never decided to tell me?" His voice, though remaining at a reasonable volume, reeked of jealousy.

Sherry stood up, nearly slamming her head on the cot above her, her brow furrowing. "I wasn't allowed to tell you, Leon, not at the time." Her nose scrunched for a millisecond. "They said, that I had to keep quiet about everything that had happened. Yeah, sure, the ambush was public knowledge, but they kept me at some undisclosed facility in the middle of nowhere for weeks before I could come back." She walked to the corner of the room, then started to pace between the two sets of cots. Four wide steps both ways; it was enough to make her dizzy.

Leon turned the chair to face her, sitting back down and crossing his legs. He watched her like a Wimbledon tennis match; back and forth, back and forth. "Okay, so you couldn't tell me right away. Did you even have plans to tell me?"

Sherry rolled her eyes, a gesture that she hoped Leon didn't see. "I did, yes."

Leon shrugged his shoulders. "When?"

Sherry turned her head, still pacing. "When you and Helena came back from Korea."

Leon bowed his head in embarrassment, hiding his flushed cheeks. "So what happened? You and everyone else signed some gag orders for 'X amount of years' and that was it? Happily ever after?"

Sherry stopped pacing, digging her nails into her hands, while at the same time a sharp pang of remembrance washed over her. How _dare_ he! She felt anger build in her stomach, her face burned. She could tear this sub apart if she wanted too; thankfully, she didn't. "No, Leon," She whispered, her voice barely audible. "The tests they ran on me for the G-Vaccine were nothing compared to whatever this is…" She held her hand up, snapping her fingers so Leon would look up.

Leon cocked an eye upwards, focusing on Sherry's hand. The half-moon marks of her finger-nails that cut into her palm that wept with blood, suddenly closed, leaving behind no visible trace of any injury at all.

Sherry retracted her hand, her face twitching again. Her eyes locked with Leon's, like a hunter stalking their prey. "So, no, there was no 'happily ever after' for me; my story doesn't have one. And neither does yours, you threw that away." She could tell by his reaction that he knew what she meant. It was a low bar to limbo under and probably not the best course of action to take, but the words just slipped out. At least, that's what she told herself.

Leon shot out of his seat, his momentum throwing the chair across the small room and into the wall. He gripped Sherry's shoulders tightly, forcing her against the bathroom door behind her. His fingers dug into her skin so roughly, he wondered if he was close to breaking something. "Don't you fucking dare!" He yelled in her face. His breath came ragged and his hair flew back and forth with each cycle. "You weren't there! You don't get to judge me!" He screamed again.

Sherry tilted her head to the side, her eyes locking with the floor. She had overstepped and now she was paying for it. She could have overpowered him, thrown him across the room, or even just killed him. But she didn't do any of those things. Even when she thought Leon was sure to smack her, he didn't. He wouldn't fall that low. "I'm sorry, Leon. I'm sorry." She repeated, her voice reverting back to that young girl he had stumbled across in Raccoon City.

Leon's hands shook; his whole body did. Like Sherry, the pain of remembrance was visible on his face. To the common person, they would see anger, but to the ones specially trained – like Sherry – his face held so many other emotions. Loneliness, sadness, embarrassment, regret beyond belief, pure agony. He released his grip on her, trudging over to the door and spun the wheel. His hands throbbed with each heartbeat. Leon looked over his shoulder at Sherry, his face flushed red and eyes burning a hole practically through her skull. "Don't lecture me, Agent Birkin." He said, using her official designation and causing her to wince at the impersonal title. "I don't need to be reminded of what I've lost." He opened the door and took a step outside, stopping to ponder his next words. "Just so you know," he began, not bothering to look at her, "Claire told me all about what happened to you after Raccoon City. It wasn't my choice that I was never there to see you. You should ask her about that next time you see her."

Leon took another step outside and, before Sherry could say anything, closed the door loudly behind him. Sherry sighed and rolled her shoulders, feeling the dulling pain subside. She moved slowly back to her bunk, laying flat on her back and staring up at the bottom of the metal cot above her. A lot of things went through her mind; anger, sadness, shame, regret. Nothing good. She absently chewed on her lip, breathing out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, while uttering a 'fuck' at the same time.

Leon wasn't wrong; she had no right in referencing what had happened to him, it was still a sore subject, but it just slipped out. Or at least that's what she told herself. She silently hoped that he would have calmed down once he got back but she knew that there was no forgiveness for digging up skeletons that had been buried so deep.

* * *

A/N: My God! Two chapters this fast!? It's almost like this one was written already... Hope you guys like the new chapter, gonna try and get the next one after this in a week or two; most likely two. Anyways, thanks so much for sticking with the story this far and let me know what you think!

Thanks,

J.


	16. Secret Agent Man

June 25th 1999, 0910, Cambridge, Massachusetts (MIT Campus)

* * *

Portia walked into the large, amphitheatre like, classroom. Her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her bronzed skin burned slightly on her shoulders from the summer sun after too much time and too little sunscreen at the beach the day before. Her shin high boots clicked on the laminate flooring, sending waves of sound bouncing around the empty lecture hall. She knocked on the door in the furthest corner of the room, the one that read "Professor Shultz" over frosted glass.

"Come in," A mans voice said, a light Boston accent accompanying it.

Portia turned the handle on the door; It creaked open. Inside were two men. One she recognized immediately as her professor; his thinning grey hair, large waist that his pants and shirt desperately tried to keep in check, and his Magnum PI moustache below a set of thick glasses. The other man, however, she had never seen before. She wouldn't deny that he was cute, albeit a little old for her tastes. He was dressed entirely in black, even his tie was the same color as his suit. His hair was combed back and gelled into an unmoving extension of his head. And despite being indoors, he wore a pair of jet-black sunglasses. Shultz sat behind his desk, while the other man sat angled at the corner of his desk, allowing him the ease of talking to either one of them.

"Please," the man said, motioning to a chair across from them, "sit down." His voice held the hint of an English accent, deep and resonating, yet carrying an almost sinister tone. His lips curved at the corners almost unnoticeably so. "Raymond has told me a lot about you, Portia Danielson; you're one of his top students."

Referring to the professor by first name? Chances were they knew each other. Portia sat down, placing her hands in her lap nervously. Something about this man was making her uncomfortable; maybe it was the way she knew he was staring at her from behind his glasses? He held an air of authority, in fact, he probably held all the air in the room with how shallow her breath was coming. "I doubt I'm _that_ good." She said bashfully.

There was a low rumbling sound, and it took Portia a moment to realize that the man was laughing in his throat. "Oh, but you are. Investigative journalism is a difficult profession to master. Raymond sent me the article you wrote on the Raccoon City Incident. Some of the details you included were…eye opening." He pulled a file folder off Shultz's desk, flipping it open. He cleared his throat into his fist. "The Raccoon City Incident, labelled officially by the government and the media as a 'nuclear meltdown', was in fact, nothing of the sort. The true cause of this atrocity was perpetrated by the United States government, when at 5:00am, they launched a PTND – Precision Tactical Nuclear Device – that obliterated the city and all residents therein." He shook his head; again a smile appeared on his face. "This is quite impressive, Portia. I'd nominate it for a Pulitzer myself."

He looked up from the paper and Portia could feel him staring into her soul. Who the hell was this guy and _why_ was he so intimidating? She shrugged her shoulders, more to dismiss any further questions than as a sign of disregard. "Thanks." She said simply.

His smile faded instantly, his face becoming a stone cold, emotionless expression. He looked over at Shultz to his left. Portia noticed that he had closed his right eye. Or had it always been closed?

"Raymond," the man said, his voice sending shivers up Portia's spine, "why don't you go get us some coffee." He turned back to look at Portia, his glasses boring into her once more. Shultz stood up, not saying a word. He glanced at her, his mouth becoming thin. He gave her a curt nod, placing a hand on her shoulder as a gesture of reassurance before walking past her and leaving the room.

Portia felt her stomach churn with unease; the feeling of being alone with this man was enough to make her vomit. Now he was telling Shultz what to do? Her mouth became suddenly dry, she licked her lips. "So how do you know professor Shultz?" She asked, breaking eye contact. Her feet suddenly became incredibly interesting.

There was the same low rumbling sound she heard before. "Raymond and I are old friends. I introduced him to his wife." He stood up; he was tall, almost to his detriment. He moved with a strange grace, something that someone of his height shouldn't possess. He pulled professor Shultz's chair out from behind his desk and sat down, smiling contently. "But I want to talk about you." He mused, placing his hands down on the table. His posture, his mannerisms, his tone of voice, all of it was…off.

Portia looked up from the floor, like a child looking to its mother after being scolded. "What about me?" She asked.

"I'll get right to the point." He said 'point' as if it was some kind of double entendre. "The information that permeates your article was stolen from the US government. There's no denying it."

Portia opened her mouth to speak, but the man raised a finger, stopping her. "I said _don't_ deny it." He warned, his voice suddenly taking on a harsh tone. She closed her mouth, her heart pounding in her chest; she was worried he might hear it. The room suddenly felt like a sauna and she felt beads of sweat gather on her brow.

He cleared his throat again, more of a call to attention than anything. He continued. "You hacked into several high-security servers, each with their own unbreakable firewall. These servers have alarms on them that trigger the second someone unauthorized tries to retrieve the data. The only people authorized to access this data are the President of this country, and a select few people that no one knows the identities of. Except me." He leaned back in his chair, staring her down. He slowly moved his arms out to the sides, his body language questioning her. "How'd you do it?"

Portia bit her lip. It all made sense now. "What are you?" She asked.

"What?" The man asked. He was clearly not used to _answering_ the questions.

"CIA, FBI, NSA? You're a suit of some kind. So what are you?"

The man smiled and actually laughed instead of just that low rumbling in his throat. "Not exactly," he said. "I don't answer to the government. Nor do I wish to be involved in those petty 'office politics'."

"So you're a terrorist."

Again, he chuckled. "I'm a likeminded individual. I share your passion for the truth. The government knows every little bit of information about you, about Raymond, about your ex-boyfriend, they expect everyone to tell the truth at all times and if you or I should fail at that, they lock us up like dogs. So I ask; why can't the rules apply to them as well? Why are they allowed to hide their secrets when we are not given the same luxury?"

She had to admit, his argument was persuasive. But she had her doubts. Portia narrowed her eyes at him. "Terrorists don't consider themselves terrorists. What do you want with me?"

He thought for a moment, seemingly the first time he had to choose his words instead of knowing already what to say. "How do you feel about the Umbrella Corporation?" He asked.

Portia scoffed. "They're the largest corporation in the world. It's safe to say that they have their hands in everyone's pockets. If I could dig deeper I could probably prove that it was Umbrella who gave the orders to level Raccoon." She sniffed, twitching her nose. "What do you want with me?" She asked again.

The low rumbling sound was back. "I only want to know _how_ you came across the knowledge that you did. It takes a lot to impress me, and you certainly have."

Portia crossed her arms across her chest, obscuring the Power Rangers T-shirt she wore. "I'd rather not say." She said, standing on what little ground she had left. She didn't trust him, not one bit. If he was some suit from the government, she would only incriminate herself more than she already had by saying she had hacked into basically _everything_ the government had on Raccoon City. But if he wasn't? That's what scared her even more.

The man's face twisted; she could tell he wasn't happy. "Alright, then," he said impatiently, pushing his glasses up, "I'll give you a choice." He closed his hands in front of him, intertwining his fingers. "You're going to jail, Portia. I'd imagine you knew that before you did what you did; you're a smart girl."

She dropped her head. He was right; the thought of being locked away did cross her mind as well as 100 other terrible things that could be done to her. "So, what," she said, glaring up at him with her eyes, her head still held low, "you're here to tell me that I'm going to jail? Gee, thanks for the revelation; I couldn't have seen that coming." Her hands clenched by her sides, gripping the denim of her ripped jeans.

"Not necessarily," the man said with a slight grin, sitting back in the chair. "The company I work for is willing to hire you."

Portia scoffed. "I thought you said you didn't work for the government?"

"I did."

Portia swallowed. "If you don't start giving me some answers when you talk, I'm leaving."

He laughed in his throat again. "I feel that you leaving would not be in your best interests, Danielson."

"I know how to hide, I could run; I have friends who will help me."

"The people that you've pissed off are not interested in seeing you brought to justice. They want you to disappear; permanently. Believe me, Portia, when I say this; they will find you. And they will eliminate you."

Portia's blood ran colder than ice. She had made a mistake, she _really_ knew that now. It was funny how hindsight was always 20/20; if she would've known what she was getting into, she wouldn't have done it. Her quest for the truth had dragged her so deep into a hole that there was no way she was climbing out now. A thought crossed her mind; maybe she could hide in there? "So my choices are going to jail or getting a job?" She shook her head. "Doesn't seem like very good choices…" She trailed off.

"We want the truth, same as you do." The man said, crossing his arms and staring her down from behind his opaque glasses. "It's a good offer; you should take it."

A hissing sound, much like someone unscrewing the top off a soda bottle, sounded in the lecture hall. Several objects shattered on the floor, followed by a loud 'THUMP'. Three more hisses sounded. Footsteps clicked on the laminate floor outside, it sounded like two sets of footsteps. They were getting closer.

Portia stood up, her head whirling around. "What was that?" She asked, her heart pounding faster and louder. Her hands started shaking, fear overcame her entire body. "What the hell was that?" She asked again, moving towards the door.

The man stood up, his right hand slowly sliding into the inside of his coat. "Portia, I need an answer to my question in approximately ten seconds."

"Ten seconds?" Portia whispered nervously. "Why ten seconds?"

The man pulled a handgun from his coat. Portia had seen enough movies to know that it had a suppressor on it. Oh, God, was he going to kill her?

"Because _seven_ seconds is all the time you have left. _Six_ seconds before you die. What is your decision?"

Portia turned around, tears beginning to roll down her face. "What?" She said, running a hand quickly through her hair. Her breath came ragged, she began to hyperventilate.

"Five…four…three" The man counted down. There was a click from his gun.

"I-I-I don't know!" She cried.

The doorknob wiggled.

"Two…one…"

"Yes, I'll do it."

The door burst open, sending Portia careening into a bookshelf some six feet from her. She hit her head, her vision lighting up in front of her eyes; brilliant whites and rainbow colors pricked her vision. Books clattered to the ground as she desperately searched for something to stop her from falling. The sound of four more hissing noises entered her ears, she knew what they were now; silenced gunshots. She covered her ears, not wanting to hear any more of what was happening and turned to face the bookshelf, staring blankly at one of the black binders on the bottom shelf. She began to pray, grabbing the crucifix around her neck and kissing it. In less than five seconds, it was over. Two more loud thumps hit the ground. She hesitantly, shakily, looked behind her.

Two men, both dressed in the same kind of suit as the man who stood before her, lay dead. They both had a large hole in their forehead, while one had a hole in his throat, and the other had one in his eye. Blood pooled around them, slowly encroaching on where she lay. She skittered away, backing up against the shelf; she suddenly felt incredibly cold. Portia started to shiver, her eyes locked on the man who only had one, a hole burrowing directly to his brain and out his skull. Her stomach churned and she vomited.

Footsteps, glass crunching, a black gloved hand in front of her face, a voice that despite its sinister undertone, reassured her that everything was going to be okay. "Come now, my dear," the man said, "it's time to leave."

Portia took it and she was hoisted up to her feet. She clung to the man who had saved her, burying her head in his chest; she didn't want to look anymore. They walked out of the office, past the two dead men, past the coffee splashed corpse of Professor Shultz, and off the eerily deserted campus grounds. The hot summer heat did nothing to alleviate Portia of her frozen body, and she still shivered long after getting into the back of the black Mercedes.

She sniffed, pulling the jacket that the man had given her closer around her shoulders. "So what do I call you?"

The man, sitting beside her, put his mobile phone down, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "You can call me, Trent." He smiled. "Welcome to the Agency."

* * *

April 21st 2016, 2345, Seoul, South Korea (Warehouse #1523, Codename: The Tomb)

* * *

Hunnigan dropped her glasses on the desk, followed by her headset. She lolled her head back and let out a long held in breath. She ran a hand through her long, brown hair, freeing it from the tight bun, ruffling it with her hand to work out any clumps. She thought that she would have gotten used to the stress that came with these black-ops type missions, but it never seemed to get any easier. She was behind a computer while the agents were under fire. She organized data while they organized lies. She hacked satellites while they diffused bombs.

Her landline rang beside her. "Hunnigan," she answered, putting her headset back on

"Did they get her?"

"Affirmative, the package is secure. They're on their way back now, Director."

"Good. Inform them that I want a full report on what happened; leave nothing out."

"Already done, sir; the report will be in your inbox tomorrow morning."

"You completed a report already?"

"Yes, sir, I felt that given the current circumstances, it would be in my – and the agent's – best interests to forward a report to you ASAP."

There was a pause on the other end. "Impressive, Hunnigan, very impressive."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No. I await your report."

The line went dead. Hunnigan removed her headset once more. She reached over for her cell phone, absentmindedly knocking over the numerous empty coffee cups that she had accumulated.

She sent Sherry a text. _"I've finished your report for you. Don't worry about it"_

Within a couple minutes she received one back. _"Let me look over it before you send it off. I want to add a few things"_

 _"Like?"_

 _"About Leon."_

 _"What about Leon?"_

 _"He's not ready."_

 _"Is he with you?"_

 _"Yeah, just in the shower."_

 _"So, he's okay?"_

 _"More or less. Just let me see the report before you send it, okay?"_

 _"I'll delay until you get back. What happened?"_

 _"I'll tell you when I get back. Goodnight, Hunnigan."_

 _"Be safe. Goodnight."_

Hunnigan dropped her phone on the desk in front of her, running a hand through her hair again, letting out _another_ long held in breath. "Mission complete," She muttered.

* * *

A/N: I wanted to really screw around with this chapter a bit, I think I succeeded in the "Huh?" sense. This was a fun one to write. Let me know what you guys think, I'll be happy to hear it! I thought about writing this one from Leon's perspective but I came up with this idea 500 words into the 'first draft'. Next one should be interesting.

See you guys then!

J.


	17. I Want To Go Out On A Chariot Of Fire

April 22nd 2016, 0730, Yangyang, South Korea

* * *

Leon had been trained to operate on little to no sleep, in fact there was a time in which he would have excelled at it. But this was not that time. His eyes were bloodshot and halfway closed, and he felt a headache start to gently pound in the back of his head; he was unsure if this was another sign of alcohol withdrawal or the sun shining like an interrogation bulb in his eyes. But it was his muscles that hurt the most. His entire body felt like it had been run over by a steamroller, then had a gigantic meat tenderizer beat the holy hell out of him. He groaned, rubbing his already injured shoulder.

"How's your shoulder?" Sherry asked.

Leon shrugged, an action he regretted immediately afterwards. "It's fine; just stiff is all." They had fought last night. Not a big one, but the line was crossed far enough that Leon had gotten angry and stormed out. He was an adult, and so was Sherry, so they should just let it go and move on. He figured he should try and find a way to put the metaphorical pin back in this grenade before it killed both of them.

Their jeep jarred to a stop, causing the two of them – and their clearly inexperienced driver – to lurch forward. Leon braced himself on the seat in front of him, looking up just in time to watch a massive APC blaze past them. One thing he liked about American military bases, was that there were designated lanes where vehicles could drive. South Korea seemed to paint the lines on the asphalt for show, to give the illusion of vehicular safety. They continued, driving from where their submarine had docked, across the deceptively large base towards the airfield. They were going to hitch a ride back to Seoul, then get debriefed and told what to do next. The driver picked up speed, an action that Leon felt strangely uneasy with. Who would have guessed that the man who drove a motorbike to and from the office everyday – or almost every day when he wasn't on assignment – would have a problem with going fast.

"Hey," he sighed, turning to look at Sherry. She had put her hair back into a ponytail and tucked it through the back hole of her baseball cap. Even so, loose bits of yellow-blonde hair flew around her face. She turned to look at him, her eyes slightly puffy and half closed from the lack of sleep, just like his were.

"Yeah?" She asked, brushing a section of hair out of her face that had come loose. She tucked it up under her hat.

"Sorry I lost it last night." He apologized, looking off into the distance. "It's hard, right? Coming to terms with what happened."

Sherry pulled a stray hair from the corner of her mouth. "What do you mean?" She said. She wanted to get more information out of him. Setting aside the fact that she was genuinely concerned for his well-being, she was more concerned with where his mental state was.

Leon sighed. "She was dead." He said matter-of-factly. "She was dead. I watched her die. _I_ shot her." He stared at the back of the headrest in front of him. "She was going to kill thousands of people and I still felt something for her." He felt a self-loathing smile pull at the corners of his mouth. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" He chuckled.

Sherry smirked, but quickly forced it away. "You really want an answer to that question?"

Leon glanced over at her, noticing her smirk and returned one of his own. "Probably not, no." He sighed again, rubbing his very tired eyes with his index finger and thumb. "There's still a part of me that loves her, you know?" He confessed.

Sherry shook her head disapprovingly. "I don't understand how. She's a war criminal, and now she's a bioterrorist. She tried to kill you, me _and_ Helena. Hell, she was probably the one that tortured her in the first place." Her words, though harsh, were kept at a reasonably kind tone.

Helena had been airlifted to a hospital in Seoul as soon as they got off the sub. She was stable, but required serious surgery and most likely would be out of action indefinitely, a decision that would certainly not sit well with her.

"Ever since Raccoon there's been this…connection between us. Even after all the things that she's done…I can't let go of her. We met at a very hard time in my life. And I'm not just talking about the fact that zombies were trying to eat me." Leon said.

Sherry cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I left home without saying anything to my family, only calling them once I got to a motel, I broke up with my girlfriend since high-school over the phone…" He trailed off. "It killed me, hearing her cry, hearing her beg me to come back. She loved me."

Sherry stared at him, her face a mixture of confusion and compassion. "And did you love her?" She asked.

"Of course, I did." He said plainly. "The road I was on was too difficult for her and I could see it. It put a strain on us and we started drifting apart." He paused and licked his lips, biting his lower lip nervously. He winced as he tasted copper in his mouth. "It wasn't until a few weeks after Raccoon that I found out she had killed herself."

Sherry didn't say anything. What _could_ she say? She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "You know that wasn't your fault, right?"

Leon nodded hesitantly. "I didn't have any contact with anyone in the 'outside world' once we got picked up by the government, so I didn't have anyone to talk to."

"You could have talked to me?" She offered.

"They wouldn't let me. Besides, Sherry, you were 11."

"12." She corrected.

Leon waved his hand. "Regardless, I wasn't going to cry on the shoulder of a preteen." He stoned his face again. "I tried to convince myself that it wasn't my fault, but every conclusion I came to, told me it was." He paused, staring down at his shoes. "I promised myself that anyone I cared about would _never_ be hurt because of me ever again."

"That's why it was so hard for you to shoot her." Sherry realized.

Leon flicked his eyebrows up and cocked his head towards her. "Turns out she's not dead though. I guess I should feel some bit of relief from that, right?"

Sherry knew that he didn't want an answer.

He sighed. "Tragedy sure has a habit of bringing people together, huh?"

"Like you and Claire?" Sherry said.

"Or you and me?" Leon replied.

Sherry smiled lightly. "Yeah, I guess so." She said. She felt her face get warm. Was she blushing? She chalked it up to the wind from the open topped jeep, and it was rather warm out today.

The jeep drove on a bit longer, the two of them sitting in silence.

Sherry bit her lip nervously. "I hope she's okay." She sighed.

Leon chuckled. "She'll be fine. If Helena's one thing, she's tough. Followed closely by stubborn."

Sherry smiled half-heartedly. "But what if she's not?" She asked, looking over at Leon.

His brow furrowed, again licking his dry lips. "She will be." He said. He turned his head to look at Sherry. "She'll be fine."

Silently, Leon was beating himself into a pulp. It was his fault she was on the edge of a cliff with the black abyss of death below her, teetering so close to falling. If only he had pulled the trigger sooner; gotten that single round off a fraction of a second faster, none of this would be happening. Him and Helena would still be together, probably off relaxing on some beach somewhere only to be called away to stop another bioterrorism threat.

It made his heart hurt, knowing that he was the cause of her pain. If he could, he would have switched places with her; he deserved it. The only difference was that he wouldn't have survived.

* * *

April 22nd 2016, 0930, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Sherry and Leon stepped out of the V-22 Osprey and onto the ground of the Seoul Military Base. Sherry had slept the entire time while Leon stayed awake having flashbacks of China. He made a mental note to see a therapist about that, then quickly tore it up because he would find himself in an institution if he went down that road.

They grabbed their duffel bags, both swollen in capacity from all the gear that they brought with them. His muscles ached and he could barely lift his own; he remembered why he preferred on-site procurement missions.

"What's the plan now?" Leon asked, yelling over the fading whine of the aircraft.

"We go back to base and get debriefed. Hopefully get some food in our system and some sleep too." Sherry responded, her voice not nearly as loud as the aircraft had shut off.

They kept walking, the surprisingly warm sun causing sweat to bead on both their foreheads.

Leon spotted a jet-black Chevy Suburban speeding across the tarmac, heading straight for them. He pointed at it, motioning with his head as well. "There's our ride."

It looked like the DSO had taken a page from the FBI's playbook; get a giant SUV, paint it black, load it full of bulletproof glass and reinforce the chassis with enough metal that they could park it in the middle of a tornado and the thing wouldn't move. As it approached, it slowed to a stop.

"Do you think they'll debrief us separately?" Leon asked.

"Most likely." Sherry replied.

"Good thing neither one of us has anything to hide." He said with a grin and a wink.

Sherry couldn't tell if his wink was intentional or if his eye had just twitched. Did he figure it out? No, he couldn't have. Did he somehow deduce that she was supposed to evaluate his mental state? She knew he was smart but…no. He couldn't have. She was so caught up in her thought that she almost walked right into the car. She caught herself at the last moment, eliciting a scoff from Leon.

"Hey, you slept on the plane ride and you're the one walking into things?" He joked.

Sherry rolled her eyes and blushed in embarrassment, walking to the opposite side of the car and pulling the back door open roughly. There was a metallic moaning sound as she nearly ripped the door off its hinges.

The black leather interior was refreshingly cool and smelled of leather. There were bottles of water tucked into the cup holders in the back, a gesture that Sherry didn't see go forgotten as she cracked one open and took a large swig.

The passenger side door opened and a woman, blonde, probably late 20's to early 30's, wearing a gray pencil skirt and gray jacket with a white blouse, and sporting a pair of thin rimmed glasses, stepped out. She held a tablet computer in her hands, clutched close to her rather large chest.

"Agent Kennedy." The woman said knowingly.

Leon had just about opened the back door, opposite Sherry, when he heard her voice. He fumbled with his words, stammering like some teenager trying to ask a girl out on a date. "Ma'am." He finally managed, though it sounded more like a question.

The woman stuck her hand out. "Sarah Hannigan. It's an honor to finally meet you."

Leon accepted. "Hannigan?" He asked, a disbelieving look on his face.

The woman nodded, then rolled her eyes. "Yes, I recognize the similarity."

Leon chuckled. "Do you work with her a lot?"

"A few times here and there." She said, stepping out of Leon's way.

"I can't imagine _that_ ever getting confusing." He grinned, climbing into the car. But he did give himself enough time to watch her walk away. What was the old saying? ' _Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go?'_ The cool air was a nice feeling on his warm skin and face and he let out a contented breath.

Sherry snorted as he sat down. "Gross." She said shaking her head, but unable to hide her grin.

Hannigan sat down in the passenger seat and instructed the driver to go. "I'm glad that your mission was a success. Although it pains me to hear about Helena's physical state. Not to mention what her mental state must be like." She said, not turning around to face the two agents.

Leon felt a ball of anger rise inside him at the way she talked about Helena. It was like she was already writing her off. "Where are we headed?" He asked. He already knew, but he wanted to know for sure.

"I've been instructed to take you back to our field base. You'll be debriefed there." She replied. Her responses were short and to the point; much like someone else. Hannigan typed away on her tablet, seemingly forgetting that the agents were in the car.

Leon leaned over to Sherry. "So," he started, "is she single?" He asked quietly. He practically heard Sherry roll her eyes.

"Yes, she is, Leon. But I don't think she'd go for you." She said, a smile creeping onto her lips.

"What do you mean? You don't-" He stopped, realizing what she meant. "You mean she's...?" He trailed off.

Sherry nodded knowingly. "Yup." She responded. "I think I'd have more of a chance."

"Are you…?"

Sherry scoffed. "You wish."

Leon shook his head, revolted by the image. "You're like a daughter to me, Sherry. I wouldn't dream of seeing that." He said seriously, grabbing his own bottled water from a cup holder and taking a swig to wet his suddenly _very_ dry mouth.

Sherry turned her head to hide her reddening cheeks, scratching the back of her neck nervously. "You know we aren't that much older than each other, right?" She said quietly.

Leon turned to look at her, only succeeding in looking at the back of her head. "11 years, right? Yeah, I know."

"Nine years." Sherry corrected.

Leon huffed. "Huh, my mistake."

Sherry bit her lip, not wanting to push the subject any further. When she was a teenager she had had a big crush on Leon, seeing as he was the only guy who was even slightly attractive compared to some of the scientists she saw. Aside from celebrities that she saw in the limited movie selection she was allowed, he was, in her world, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Hannigan turned in her seat, handing her tablet back to them. "The director wants to speak with you."

Sherry took the tablet and Leon leaned in so the camera could see him. "Is this secure?" She asked. Hannigan quirked her eyebrow and Sherry forgot she asked. "Director Mansfield?" Sherry asked, as the picture distorted, lagged, and then became clear again.

"Yes, Agent Birkin, I'm here. Can you hear me?" He asked.

"Yes, sir. Good to hear from you." Sherry said.

"Likewise, Sherry." He said, dropping the formality. "Leon, I'm glad to see you're alive. How are you feeling?"

Leon was surprised; he was being nice. "Good, Sam. The operation was a success, although there is urgent information that we need to move on." He paused. "Urgently." His speaking needed some work, a lot of work.

Mansfield rubbed his chin. "I've read the report, Leon. I'm handing it off investigation of this matter to Sherry. You've done what we asked; after the debriefing, you're free to go."

Sherry looked at Leon who had a dumbfounded look on his face. "Leon…" She whispered. Really? Just like that, he's being let go?

"Sir, if it's alright, I'd like to stay with this." Leon replied, furrowing his brow.

Mansfield shook his head. "Not happening, Leon. You're too close to this. If we need any more assistance we'll contact you. Once you're debriefed you'll be on a plane back stateside."

Leon's face twitched in anger. "Sam, I know Ada. I know how she thinks. You need me on this!"

Mansfield slammed his hands down on his desk. "Frankly, Leon, your track record with this woman isn't exactly the best. And the last time I put you in charge of an operation that she was involved in, Korea almost went to war!" He paused, staring down at his desk. "Please, Leon," he said, his voice softer and more concerned, "look at this from my perspective. Would you put yourself back on a collision course with this woman?"

Leon opened his mouth to speak but the words never came out. The only sounds that Mansfield heard were the sounds of breaking glass, screeching tires, and twisting metal as a supercharged big rig slammed into the side of the Suburban.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took me longer than it should have (lot of apologizing going on here, eh?) but May was stupid hectic and now most of June looks the same way. Let me reiterate something: I LOVE WRITING THIS! I'm a very hectic and busy person who always has so much on the go (CAN YOU TELL!?) and previously I would put writing on the back burner while I did all these other things. But I find myself carving out time in my life to sit down and write this.

I'm always thinking about the next moments in the story, and have a lot of stuff written for later – though none of it is even remotely in a publishable state – that I plan to pull from. It's taking a bit longer because I'm slowly chipping away at another project. And I'm stupid busy. Don't worry, it's not going to be a full-length story; just something that's been on my mind. Anyway, any questions or comments throw them at me.

Thanks, guys,

J.


	18. Vendetta

April 22nd 2016, 1000, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

How many times did the car roll? Three times? Four times? Leon had lost count once his head had cracked off Sherry's and sent his entire world into a mishmash of colors and blurry shapes. The world almost seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he imagined the soothing sounds of _Ave Marie_ playing in the background; the soundtrack to their catastrophe. He kept his eyes closed and his arms as close to his body as he could, not wanting to catch a piece of glass or fracture something on his respective body parts. He had been in car crashes before, his most memorable one had been after Tall Oaks, but with one major difference; he had never been in a _bus_ crash.

The car managed one final, lazy roll before coming to a stop on it's roof. It was totalled. Every window was shattered, the drivers side – and Sherry's – was caved in, resulting in a wicked U-shaped curve. The metal had pinned Sherry's legs and the impact had most certainly annihilated the driver. Sherry, unlike the driver, was only unconscious.

Leon remembered hearing the engine approach. The loud, hot-rod like roar of the turbocharger, followed by the low growl, almost like a Rottweiler or a Pitbull, as it slowed. Even now, he could hear it in the distance – maybe only 100 or 150 feet away – rumbling low like a predator waiting to strike again.

His vision slowly came back into focus. Colors returned to normal, the blurry shapes in front of him became seats and what remained of the dashboard. He blinked his eyes, lazily turning to Sherry. His body screamed in pain, and he grunted and moaned as he pulled at his seatbelt. "Sherry…" He mumbled. He looked her over, watching as some of the small cuts and gashes on her face and upper body began to close on their own. "Come on, Sherry." He mumbled again, swearing as his seatbelt wouldn't come loose.

Sherry stirred, letting out a pained moan as her eyes flickered open. Her forehead creased as she opened her mouth in a painful, yet short-lived cry. "Fuck," she hissed, "what the hell happened?"

Leon fiddled with his seatbelt again, becoming more coherent by the second. "We got hit. Big fucking truck. Can you hear it?"

Sherry closed her eyes again and listened. The low growling of the engine found its way into her ears; it sounded like a pissed off lion, or maybe a tiger. "Yeah, I hear it. Can you walk?" She asked. She gripped her seatbelt with both hands and pulled, easily tearing it apart. Her leg caught on the twisted metal, opening a whole new series of cuts and gashes up her calf and thigh. She yelped in pain, her breath coming heavy and ragged.

Leon swore again. "I have no idea. I can't get this damn seatbelt off!" He gave out an exasperated sigh and grinned. "I can wiggle my toes, though."

Sherry leaned over as far as she could, gripped the seatbelt lock with her hand, and squeezed. It shattered and the belt flew off, dropping Leon on his side amidst a pile of broken glass. She grimaced. "Sorry…"

Leon groaned and glared up at her. "Thanks, I guess." He reached up to the passenger seat, to check on Hannigan. "Sarah, are you-" He stopped, only feeling the leather of the seat and no one sitting in it. "Hannigan?" He called out, his own voice hurting his ears. His eyes caught sight of a figure dressed in grey, splattered with flecks of red.

Hannigan had been thrown from the vehicle; her seatbelt must have snapped. Her body lay motionless about 30 feet away. A large pool of blood had formed around her midsection. Suddenly, she stirred, her head moving to look at the voice that called to her.

"Hannigan, don't move. I'm coming to get you." Leon called out. Bits of glass dug into his hands and forearms as he crawled across the hood between the two upturned seats.

"Leon, wait. Stop!" Sherry called out, prying at the caved-in door with her hands. The way it had folded was extremely effective at keeping her pinned.

He reached the cracked windshield and crawled through it, pushing past the blown open hood and out into the street. He stood, hesitantly testing his legs. He felt warmth cascade down his forehead and he reached up, only to remove his hand and have it covered in his own blood, realizing that that's where his headache was coming from. He started towards Hannigan, his vision swimming from the obvious concussion he had received.

The car had been struck in what looked like a commercial area; retail stores, coffee shops, and restaurants dotted the side of the three-lane roadway. In the distance, Leon could see the truck. It didn't just hit them, it had _flipped_ them. There, mounted on the matte black frame, below the windows covered in armor plating, was a cow catcher. A fucking snow-plow.

The sudden snap-crack of rifle fire caused him to jump out of his skin. Bullets impacted the pavement around him, some whizzing past his ears. The small group that still hung around taking cell-phone video started a panicked, hysterical mob scream. Gunfire erupted into the air, the unmistakable sound of a Russian machinegun. Windows of parked cars shattered around him, tires deflated as a hail of bullets came his way.

The muscles snapped in his legs and propelled him towards the nearest car for cover. He was in no-man's land; too far away from the Suburban to think about going back. He tumbled over the hood of a nearby Mercedes. As he rolled, he felt a white-hot pain in the back of his thigh. He had been shot. It wasn't anything new for him, but he would have much rather preferred not to have a repeat experience. He grabbed at the fresh wound and growled, slamming his free hand into the side door of his cover.

He reached for the Five-Seven he had tucked in the waistband of his pants, cursing when he didn't feel it. "Oh, fuck me…" He muttered, ducking his head as a new barrage of bullets came his way.

* * *

Sherry spotted Leon's pistol on the floor just as the gunfire started. "He's gonna want that…" She muttered.

She heard voices from outside, then footsteps; at least four pairs.

"Flip it over." One of them yelled in Korean.

"Get it ready. She's a tough one." Another said.

She reached into her waistband and felt the butt of her own handgun; the presence gave her a fleeting sense of calm. She used her free leg to kick at the door, using all the strength she could muster. She laid into it once, twice, three powerful kicks, and only managed to dent the metal. "Fuck." She swore. She felt the car move, rocking back and forth. She placed her hands on the upturned roof to steady herself as it started to roll.

The vehicle creaked and moaned like a wounded animal, glass crunched and popped under the frame as the nearly five tonne car rolled over. Sherry let out a pained cry as her leg was pinched more in the contorted metal. The car lurched, coming to a hard rest with no bounce from the tires. Her teeth clacked together painfully, sending new jolts of pain through her jaw. The sound of a saw, almost like a heavy-duty chainsaw snapped her to attention. Sparks flew up in the air and inside the car, pricking her skin with needles of scalding heat. Two large circular saw blades pierced her door and started to gnaw their way towards her.

With one final, rage and panic induced, kick, the door finally came loose. Tearing at her flesh as it flew an impressive ten or so feet away from her, it knocked two of the now visible assailants off their feet. She drew her handgun, her combat awareness kicking in. They wore all black everything, and were clearly dressed like professional mercenaries. Body armor, fatigues, the works. They even had ballistic face masks. Their weapons were expensive, heavily modified AR-15's, KRISS weaponry, good American made weapons. The only exception had been the Russian machinegun she had heard belch fire at Leon. She hoped he was okay but dismissed the thought; she'd seen him work his way out of tighter jams than this one.

She pulled the trigger, driving several rounds into the center mass of one of the mercenaries. Unsurprisingly, he remained standing, though shaken by the sudden close-range impacts. It was all she needed. She had heard the bell-like ringing as her rounds struck the steel plated body armor, so there was no sense in trying to pierce it with her puny handgun. She leapt from the wreck of their vehicle, her arms outstretched. She grabbed the stunned guard by the neck, tucking it under her arm and choking him. In the same motion, she torqued her body and kicked her feet out as hard as she could, driving her heels into the chest of the Merc next to her.

Both her and the Merc in her grip spun, almost a full rotation, before she drove his head hard into the pavement. Shery rolled over, pulling the Merc with her and into a mount. She smashed her palm into his face mask, hearing the satisfying 'crunch' of bone and other things. Bullets sprayed around her; the two Mercs she had knocked away had composed themselves. She was impressed. She tilted her head with an impossibly noticeable motion, barely managing to avoid a bullet by less than a hair width. It grazed her, leaving a momentary cut that quickly healed over and a thin red line of blood.

Sherry raised her handgun, squeezing the trigger gently. Bullets screamed around her, but none struck her. To the average human, it looked like she wasn't even moving. But she was dancing between the bullets. She had complete control over her body, each movement was precise, yet broad, and faster than lightning. She twisted and turned in unnatural ways, time slowing down to a crawl as she watched bullet after bullet slide past her. Her own gun kicked in her hand, an explosion of fire and smoke. Her own bullet slide from the barrel, spinning out and away from her. She squeezed the trigger again, this time aiming at the other Merc. It was almost painfully slow, the waiting.

The bullet found a home in the eye socket of the first Merc, his body crumpling like a useless idea on a piece of paper. Her second bullet had the same effect.

Sherry felt a cold spot on her skin. It was a raindrop.

There was movement from behind her. Sherry twisted, holding her gun close to her body, identifying the threat.

It was big. The Merc was easily seven feet tall and probably weighed half as much as their demolished ride. He wore the same outfit as the others, except he had no gun. Fitting, seeing as one probably wouldn't have fit in his watermelon sized hands anyway.

Sherry fired again, putting three rounds into his chest. Again, the metal plate stopped them. She changed targets, popping the rest of her magazine into his legs. The bullets sunk deep and he teetered uneasily. Then, Sherry saw something that surprised her. In mid reload she watched as the mushroom capped bullets pushed their way out of his skin and clinked on the ground around him. Panicked, she pulled the trigger again.

He moved faster than she anticipated. _'He's faster than me?'_ She thought, it only crossing her mind for an instant.

He grabbed her by the head, his massive fist closing tightly around her, and slammed her once, twice, three times into the frame of the Suburban. She wouldn't remember anything after that.

* * *

A/N: Sometimes life comes at you fast. Fuck that. Life is a never ending, never slowing, always accelerating freight train heading straight for your face and there isn't anything anyone can do about it! I'm sorry…. Would you all believe me if I said that I started writing this chapter IMMEDIATELY after posting the previous one? Because I did. I had originally planned for this to be longer, switching back to Leon's POV and that's how it would end, but I feel I've procrastinated long enough on this chapter and decided to finish it. I also planned to have this up on the release of "Vendetta"; but clearly THAT didn't happen… Let me know what you all think, I'd love to hear it.

J.


	19. Pain

April 22nd 2016, 1015, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Leon cursed at himself. He thought, how could he, of all people, lose his gun? Now, he was stuck behind the engine block of a Mercedes that was quickly turning into metallic Swiss cheese. Judging by the pounding in his head, he had a mild concussion. And the bullet hole in his left leg that was turning his pant leg a shade of deep, dark crimson wasn't getting any better. He blinked blood out of his eyes and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He winced at the sudden sting of pain; too dull to be a gunshot, but too sharp to be a minor gash. He would need stitches and it would leave a rather unsavory scar.

He chanced a peek over top of the hood, clawing his way up like Kilroy. He spotted the one with the machine gun, and two more men flanking him, each with their weapons pointed at Leon. Bullets impacted the car and hissed and snapped over his head. He ducked back down, cursing several times. "Sherry?" He called out, crawling to the rear of the vehicle. "Sherry, can you hear me?" He yelled over the sound of gunfire. He knew the answer to his question before he asked it, but it made him feel better to try.

He started to make his way back to the engine block, back to safety. He dug into one of the pockets on his thigh, frantically searching for his phone that he hoped he didn't leave in the car. He breathed easier as his fingers brushed against it. He ducked his head out of reflex when he heard another zip above him. He dialed the first number he could find.

"Leon are you okay? The police scanners are going crazy." Hunnigan asked.

"Hunnigan, we were ambushed." He screamed. There was the familiar clicking of keys on her end of the line.

"I'm hacking into the traffic cameras nearby now. What's the situation?" She asked.

Leon scoffed, then let out a groan. "FUBAR. Sherry, Sarah, and I survived the crash, but I've lost visual on Sherry and Sarah's been injured.

"Leon, I've got a visual on you now. You've got three hostiles at your nine, as well as- Leon, at your 11 o' clock!" She screamed.

A black clad figure rounded the front end of the vehicle. His KRISS Vector was shouldered and ready to fire, the sights aimed at Leon. He fired, bullets screaming from the barrel, launching a rain of brass that resounded like Christmas bells on the pavement.

Leon dropped the phone and scrambled forward, trying to close the distance. Much to his displeasure, he felt hot pain shoot up his back more than once. His body was fueled only by adrenaline at this point. He rolled forward, hearing more bullets hiss past his ears; he felt a dull pain in his right ear. Using his momentum, he swung his right leg down like a sledgehammer. It impacted the figure's knee and he let out a loud cry, his gun firing wildly at the ground where Leon had been.

Leon reacted quickly. Using his left foot and left arm, he swung himself around the shooter. Using his own leg, he pulled him down to the ground. Kicking off the ground, he put pressure behind the undamaged knee of the man, forcing him down even harder. Leon reached for his belt, pulling out the small switchblade that he had tucked away. Something was going right today. He flicked the knife open, flipped it around in his hand. As Leon's body crashed into the gunman's back, he drove the knife into the back of his skull, twisting it with a grunt.

There was the involuntary muscle spasm as the last neurons fired, and then nothing. For a moment, Leon collapsed on top of the corpse, breathing labored and heavy. His body started to burn with pain. Each rapid-fire heartbeat sending renewed jolts of pain through him.

"Leon? Leon!?" Hunnigan yelled over the phone.

He groaned and reached for the phone; the screen had cracked. "Hunnigan…" He moaned painfully, his words coming slow, "I've been shot." He coughed, blood sputtering from his mouth. "A lot. I'm going to try and get to Sherry, and Sarah, and then wait for you to send someone to help us."

"I've already dispatched a team. Don't move!"

Leon actually managed a chuckle. "Sorry, Hunny, that's not how I do things."

He picked himself off the ground, grabbing the dead man's gun and whatever ammo he could. He poked his head up from behind the car; the gunfire had slowed. New rounds pinged off the car, sending him back down behind it. He managed to catch sight of the shooter, and thankfully it wasn't the one with the machine gun. _'The car is maybe 30 paces.'_ He thought, shrugging his dry and cracked lips. _'I can make 30 paces.'_

He jumped up from behind the car, vaulting over the hood, his body on fire from the pain. His adrenaline pumped through him so hard, he felt like the world was moving in slow motion. His muscle memory kicked in. Raising his weapon and squeezing the trigger, he narrowed the field of fire towards his enemies. The machine gunner hadn't moved, and neither had the two beside him, one was caught in the open. There were 3 more surrounding the overturned car. Perfect…

The one in the open was the first to drop. His body turning into sieve after a rather overzealous trigger squeeze. The next was the machine gunner, who refused to go down without a fight. His body dead gripped the trigger and continued to spray fire in Leon's direction. Leon slid on the ground, pretty sure that he skinned his knee in the process. But a little boo-boo on his knee was better than taking a bullet to the chest. After him, was the shooters to his flanks. He dropped to his back, hitting the first one as he fell. He rolled to his left to avoid the cracking of bullets as they bounced off the pavement. He stopped, letting loose a torrent of bullets at the shooter.

Leon was completely acting on training, everything else had taken a backseat. Emotions, thinking, feeling, it was all instinct now. His breath was white noise in his ears, his heart kicking like a drum. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in a war-zone that was over-saturated.

 _Get them out._

He sprinted towards Sarah's broken body. To the onlooker, it was more of a pained shamble than anything resembling an even gait.

A painful 'thwack' struck him in his side and he lost contact with the ground, suddenly flying. Leon smashed into and dented the door of a parked car. The back of his head snapped painfully off the window as it shattered. He looked up, his vision too blurry to comprehend. Whatever hit him, it was big.

It lumbered towards him; a black, blurry mass of muscles and death. It was the vague shape of a man, but there was no way it could be one. It looked like an awkward child's drawing. It was tall and rangy, but with too much muscle, and its arms stretched to well past it's knees. Leon couldn't see – or couldn't make out – its face. It stood in front of him, casting a shadow that went well beyond the car he currently was laying in.

Leon raised the rifle with one hand, the weight becoming almost too much. He squeezed the trigger. To his horror, it clicked empty. The creature smacked the weapon from his hand and it clattered across the pavement.

Leon squinted, trying to force his vision to come back into focus. He imagined this thing ripping him limb from limb, or crushing him against the cold metal of the car. His eyes drifted to Sarah, her body laying broken and bloody in the middle of the street.

"Sarah…" He wheezed out, trying to stand.

The creature, with as little effort as Leon would have swatting a fly, knocked him back on his ass. He scowled at it, blood poured from his body and he knew that his tank was empty.

"Fuck you." He spat, a big bloody glob of snot and saliva splatting on the ground in front of him. He was so weak he couldn't even manage a decent loogie. He closed his eyes and waited for the darkness of death to take him.

To his surprise, all he heard was the lumbering footsteps of the thing as it walked away. He opened his eyes and saw its back to him. "Yeah, you better run…" He gurgled, spitting again. "I'll let you go this time."

* * *

April 22nd 2016, 1025, Kaesong, North Korea

* * *

The dull glow of blue light illuminated the dark, empty room, spotlighting Ada's face. She watched the chaos unfold on satellite feeds. From the safety of her office, she issued orders to her own army of zealous soldiers. The car flip was most impressive, as was the soldier's cohesion; they were programmed well. But the star of the show, the top billed actor…

"Leon…" She breathed, propping her head up on her hand like she was watching a romance movie. He was impressive. Despite being injured, he still managed to fight back. She had expected this. She ordered the soldiers to kill him, and only him, knowing that he would survive. She knew him too well; his training was top notch. Coupling that with his intense desire to persevere, and he was a real-life superhero.

She watched as the one she called 'Agma' knocked Leon aside like he was nothing. She winced, almost feeling the pain herself. It approached him, lumbering on its gangly legs.

" _Let it kill him. We can_ _accomplish_ _our goals without him."_

Ada shook her head. "No. I still need him."

" _No, you don't!"_ The voice snapped. _"Your obsession with Kennedy is childish. We will destroy him, along with the rest of the-"_

"Shut your mouth. You forget whose body you're using. Besides," she paused, staring at the monitors as Leon lost his weapon, "I will do what is needed, when it is necessary." She pressed a button and leant down into a microphone. "Stop." She commanded. Agama froze, completely motionless. Ada smiled. "Kill the girl."

She would break him, turn his world to ash, decimate everything that he held dear. And then, when he had lost everything, when he had nothing left, when he was begging for death, that's when she would strike.

* * *

April 22nd 2016, 1030, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Leon tried to stand, but his body wasn't having it. He drew in shaky breaths, watching his would-be killer walk away. He fought to keep his eyes open. After all these years of narrowly avoiding Death, it seemed that He had finally come for him. He felt the icy grasp as it wrapped decaying hands around him, pulling him away, pulling him into a place of peace.

His eyes jolted open, sucking in ragged, smoke filled and blood-soaked air. He caught sight of that thing.

It moved slowly towards Sarah, her face a mess of blood and debris. Tears flowed down her crimson cheeks as she sobbed painfully. Sarah met Leon's broken gaze. She didn't need words for Leon to know what she was feeling.

He groaned, attempting to stand once more. "Hey..." He choked out. "Hey, come back here and kill me." He spat. His body finally obeyed, and he stood on shaky legs.

It stood over top of her, it's head rotating. It didn't speak, it hardly even breathed. It was as silent and as faceless as death.

Leon grabbed a heavy chunk of broken concrete. "Hey!" He screamed, his throat immediately punishing him as he hacked a few ragged coughs. He shambled forward, throwing the piece of concrete as hard as he could. It travelled shorter than he expected, shattering on the ground several feet short of his target. "You son of a bitch!" He yelled, again sputtering up blood.

It stood over top of Sarah, reaching a massive hand down and gripping the back of her shirt. Lifting her up, her body provided little resistance. Limp, she cried in pain.

"Please..." She said. She looked at Leon, terrified.

Leon screamed. A cry of helplessness and pain filled the air.

It was quick. But not in any way humane. The creature lifted her over its body, ragdolling her through the air, and slammed her into the ground. There was a loud crack as Sarah was driven head first into the concrete. Her head exploded, like a watermelon hit with a .50 caliber bullet. Her body bent awkwardly, and the creature's arms shook as it struggled to literally fold her in half.

Leon dropped to his knees. His body, mind, everything was overloaded. He couldn't pull his gaze away from the broken heap that had once been a woman. His chest grew tight, and he felt himself fill with a mixture of rage and hopelessness.

Even and precise shots rang out from behind him. Bullets sunk into the flesh of the monster in front of him.

Sherry had blood dripping down the side of her face, staining her yellow-blonde hair red. She slammed a new magazine into her handgun. She bared her teeth as her lips pulled back into a snarl. She advanced, taking powerful strides towards her target.

It grunted as it felt the shots enter its body. It whirled around, starting to move in her direction. It stopped in mid stride. Turning around after a moment, it took off in a lope towards the semi-truck cab.

Sherry ran forward, her shots still landing center mass. She screamed in anger before hearing the hammer on the gun hit metal, resulting in a loud 'click'. She kept pulling the trigger, dry firing the weapon several times over, hoping that one of the trigger pulls would refill the magazine. She threw the gun with a roar, her voice breaking in pain as it flew from her hand.

The creature leapt onto the back of the truck cab, it's body barely fitting on the empty trailer hitch. The truck roared to life, the engine whining as it spun around and off in the opposite direction.

Sherry ran to Leon, catching him as he pitched forward. "Leon," she gasped, "Leon, stay with me!"

Leon heard her voice at a distance, it echoed in his ears. He gazed off into the distance, somehow looking directly at her, yet through her at the same time. His eyes were wide and dead.

Sherry grabbed the side of his face, cupping his cheek. "Leon!" She yelled.

In the distance, sirens could be heard fast approaching.

* * *

A/N: *Insert lengthy excuse of why the chapter took so long that only slightly hints at complete and utter laziness*


	20. Rest In Piece

April 22nd 2016, 1100, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Sherry sat in a back of a black tactical van as it sped through the streets of Seoul. Her head and leg had been wrapped in gauze to stop her from bleeding out. A massive gash had opened on her forearm in the fight. She was instructed to hold a wad of the white fabric in place to slow the bleeding on her way to the hospital. But it lay beside her, soaked through with blood. She watched as the crimson liquid ran down her fingertips and dripped onto the floor.

 _'Drip'_

 _'Drip'_

 _'Drip'_

Her ears still rang from the gunfire, and her head pounded from being knocked unconscious. She stared at small puddle of red that had started growing around her feet. She wasn't healing. _Why_ wasn't she healing?

"Sherry," Hunnigan said softly, turning around in her passenger seat. "You need to put pressure on that."

Sherry looked up. Her normally bright and cunning eyes now bloodshot, drooping and puffy. "It's not going to help."

Hunnigan looked beside Sherry at the handful of gauze. It looked more like a slab of raw meat. "Here," she said, reaching into the first-aid kit at her feet, "wrap it in this," handing her back a new roll of gauze.

Sherry looked at it a long time before taking it, her hand trembling. She snatched it and started to unravel it around her arm. She couldn't remember how or when she got the cut, but damn if it didn't hurt.

Sherry shook her head, checking to see if her headache had gotten worse. It had now. "Hunnigan," she said, staring at the floor, "do you think Leon will be alright?" Her voice was soft and raspy and Hunnigan struggled to hear her.

She faced Sherry. "He's going to be fine. He always is." She said.

Sherry looked up at the older woman. "Honestly." She demanded.

"Honest?" Hunnigan asked.

She nodded.

Hunnigan sighed. "He's been shot 7 times and lost a lot of blood." She removed her glasses and tilted her head back, taking in a deep breath. "The doctors aren't very...optimistic."

Sherry dug her nails into the cut on her arm, sharp pain lighting up her nerves. Running up her arms, over her chest, and down her back before circling back down to her toes, she winced. The thought of losing two of her only friends in the world was becoming too much to bear. "Should we call Claire?" She asked.

"I don't know if that would be a good idea." Hunnigan said. "I think the less people who know about this, the better."

Sherry ignored her advice. "I think we should." She said. "She's like a sister to him. She'd want to know." She stared down at her feet. The attack had dredged up old memories, no, _nightmares,_ of when she was ambushed in Iraq. "I'm calling her when we get to the hospital."

Hunnigan pushed her glasses up her nose. "Let me talk to HQ. They may have special instructions for us. This smells like a leak and I doubt they'll-"

Sherry slammed her hand against the door, cutting Hunnigan short. Her lip curled in a snarl. Hunnigan's tick of pushing up her glasses was commonplace, and it was never misconstrued as anything other than that; a gesture. But somehow this time when she'd done it, it carried a semblance of snobbishness. "A bit hypocritical of yourself, don't you think?" Sherry hissed.

Hunnigan frowned. "Excuse me?" She said, her tone more questioning than accusatory.

Sherry let out an exasperated scoff. "The same person who previously had _no_ issue breaking the rules is suddenly bound by them?" Sherry sat forward in her seat and stared at Hunnigan through blurry eyes. "Look around you," she said scowling, "this whole mission is falling apart. There's nothing that HQ can do to salvage it."

Hunnigan licked her dry lips. "I understand you're upset, but you need to be mindful of where your head is."

Sherry growled internally. "This mission is a failure," she croaked, feeling her throat swell up, "two agents are in critical condition with one more dead, not to mention a dead-" She stopped herself, sucking in a ragged breath. Her eyes fell to the floor as her head drooped.

"Okay." Hunnigan sensed Sherry's discomfort. Sherry was right, unequivocally so. She placed a hand on the younger woman's knee. "Hey," she said, managing a weak smile, "when we get to the hospital you can call Claire."

Sherry didn't look up, instead fixated on the blood that was staining the new roll of gauze.

 _'Drip'_

 _'Drip'_

 _'Drip'_

* * *

January 10th 2000, 1745, Portland, Maine

* * *

The snow was coming down thick and heavy, coating the street in a layer of white powder that showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Beneath the dark blue sky, a lone woman crunched her way down the empty sidewalk. Shielding her natural red hair from the falling snow was a green and white umbrella. She casually spun it in her hands, jostling loose any snow that clung to it.

The 21 year old Claire Redfield walked briskly down the sidewalk. Her cheeks were a shade of bright red, frozen from the light wind that had picked up. Even her hands, covered by furry gloves were stinging from the cold.

The section of town she strode through apparently didn't get the memo that Christmas was over. Multi-colored lights hung between lamp posts and plastic reindeer still adorned shop windows. The narrow one-way street had a small line of cars whose tires spun as they took off from a stop. Claire began to wonder how her motorcycle would have fared in this weather. She shook the thought from her head, chalking it up as one of her many 'bad ideas'.

The restaurant was a tiny hole in the wall Italian place with a cliche name like "Gino's" or "Luigi's". The color scheme was equally predictable. Green, white, and flashing red neon lights drew her attention. She stepped through the door, hearing a little bell ring above her head, into a well-lit dining area. It wasn't bright enough to be considered obnoxious, but Claire felt a small pain in her eyes as they adjusted. She would have preferred _a bit_ of mood-lighting. Cozy red carpet covered the floor, and its color was only heightened by the darker tables and chairs. Even the Italian decor - which was more than likely faux - fit in well. Claire tapped her boots on the door mat, shaking off what snow still clung to them, and shed her gloves. She flexed her frozen fingers, then cupped and breathed on them, trying to get the blood flowing again.

"Claire Redfield?" An older woman with a hint of an Italian accent said, approaching her. She was short, had gray hair, a round face, and dressed - predictably - in a green, white, and red dress. Maybe the decor was real after all...

Claire looked surprised and nodded her head with a smile. She wondered how many other women she had called 'Claire' before she finally showed up.

"Please, come with me. Your date is waiting." She said with a smile, equal parts jealous and happy.

Claire opened her mouth in embarrassment and gave an awkward laugh and smile. "No, no, he's not my date." She said, a bit louder than she should have. A young man, perhaps only a couple years younger than her, offered to take her coat. An offer she took as she shrugged her heavy black and pink parka off her rapidly blushing, slender frame.

She was left wearing her close-fitting jeans, a green sweater, and her black winter boots. The latter was leaving blotchy wet footprints on the floor behind her. As they walked, she realized that all the tables were empty. Not that they were waiting for someone to come and clean them, but that the chairs were turned legs up. In fact, she assumed that the entire restaurant - aside from kitchen staff - was empty.

Seated at a corner table, away from _all_ the windows, was a dangerously handsome young man. His auburn hair was brushed to one side, giving off an air of gravitas. He flicked through a menu, his head propped up on his hand. Sensing movement, he looked up, and smiled when he realized who was approaching.

"Claire." He said, standing up from the far seat to greet her.

Claire smiled, quickening her pace. "Leon." She beamed, throwing her hands around his neck and inhaling the sweet scent of aftershave. He was wearing a well-fitted, black, pinstripe suit and waistcoat, with a white dress shirt and red tie. The outfit, and the sweet scent of aftershave, caused a not unwelcome heart flutter. Claire suddenly felt very under-dressed.

"What are you drinking? White? Red?" Leon asked as they broke the hug. He gestured to the seat across from him.

The same young man, who took Claire's coat, pulled out the chair for her. She smiled at him and sat. "Beer. Do you have anything local on tap?" She said with a chuckle.

The older woman nodded. "Yes. Anything specific?"

"Preferably a Porter, but anything dark will do." Claire said.

"And you, sir?"

"I'm alright for now. Thank you." Leon said, holding up an untouched glass of red wine.

Claire and Leon stared at each other across the table in silence, trying to find the person from two years ago. The girl who he had saved, or as she would say, _assisted,_ looked so...different. Likewise, the RPD rookie had definitely gotten a promotion. They had changed so much. Moving on from the nightmare that was Raccoon City, Rockfort Island and Antarctica. They had finally started transitioning back to _mostly_ normal lives. One thing was for sure, they were both a lot cleaner now than they were back then.

"You're late." He said, grinning into his wine glass.

Claire giggled. "Nice to see you too, Leon." Her brow furrowed playfully.

Leon took a sip of wine and suppressed a smile. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming. Heaven forbid you would want to bail on such a nice dinner with an old friend."

"And I'm beginning to doubt the quality of this restaurant. It seems that the locals know something that you don't." Claire said, gesturing to the empty dining area and opening a menu.

The waitress came back with a large glass of dark colored liquid and set it on the table. She opened her mouth to say something, but Leon opened his hand, signaling they'd need a few more minutes.

"How have you been?" He asked Claire.

Claire smiled, clasping her hands on the table. "I'm doing," she paused, thinking about her choice of words. Worrying Leon was not on her list of things to do tonight. "I'm doing good." She finished. "I'm doing good." She repeated, nodding her head, more to convince herself than Leon.

In honesty, she was having trouble sleeping. The nightmares, filled with zombies, dogs, and other monsters, were the reason a bottle of sedatives sat on her nightstand. She had stopped taking them because they made her groggy and irritable. And the nausea was something that she was more than happy to do away with. At the behest of one of her more _spiritual_ friends, she had started meditating before sleep. Her friend had said something about centering herself against negative thoughts and traumas. Though, she had to admit, it was working. There was the occasional night where she woke screaming, and she still slept with a light on. But she was getting better.

"What about you? How have you been?" Claire asked, taking a sip of her beer.

Leon shrugged with a grin. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small fold of leather and slid it across the table. "Government headshrinkers get paid more than they should." He chuckled.

Claire flipped it open. She scoffed, flicking an eyebrow up. " _Agent_ Leon Scott Kennedy," she said with a smirk. "It has a nice ring to it." She slid it back across the table and took another sip of her beer. "I'm assuming _that,_ " she said, pointing to the badge, "has something to do with this place being empty?"

Leon put the badge back into his pocket. "I don't have that kind of power. But I called in a favor. My boss is the owner's brother."

"So, you signed on to be a spook." Claire folded her arms across her chest and frowned. "What, the life of a police officer seemed too easy?"

Leon sighed. He should have expected this; Claire didn't seem like the kind of person to forgive and forget. "Voluntold is the word you're looking for."

Claire tilted her head quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah," Leon said, nodding. "Seems that when you witness one of the most devastating viral outbreaks in history, the government doesn't just let you walk away."

"I did." Claire said.

Leon chuckled. " _Because_ I purposely left your name out of any and all reports. Believe me, for a while I thought that maybe I should have done that."

Claire cocked her head. "What? Just...running?"

Leon nodded, his mouth drawing straight. "Just taking Sherry and runnin' off down the tracks into the sunrise. Living in small town USA somewhere. Still do, occasionally."

Claire smiled. "I can't imagine you as a 'white picket fence' type of person."

Leon scoffed. "Yeah, you're probably right... I couldn't do it. I'd go all stir crazy. Better to be an agent than be a stay-at-home dad."

They both laughed for a moment before Claire pressed the question. "So what did they tell you?"

Leon cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You're a government agent now, right? What did threaten you with?"

Leon shook his head in surprise. "Me? Nothing. Why do you think I'm a hostage?"

"Because you're a hostage." Claire said directly.

Leon sighed again, raising his hands in defense. "It's not like that."

"Well then explain to me what it _is_ like. Because to me it sounds like you're a hostage!" She hissed.

"Can we stop saying the word 'hostage' please?" Leon hissed back. He stared into her eyes for a few seconds before speaking again, gauging how much he could say. "They gave me a choice," he said, biting his bottom lip. "Become a government agent, or..."

Claire cocked her eyebrow. "Or what?"

"Or don't." He said, sipping at his wine. "I'd rather not think about the alternatives." He paused. "I did it because of Sherry." He said. "If I didn't agree, I knew they wouldn't take care of her."

"They threatened _her_?" Claire growled. Claire was a lot like a mother bear; threaten her young and you'll most likely end up dead in a ditch somewhere.

"It could've just been a bluff, I'm almost sure it was. But I wasn't about to take that chance." Leon said.

Claire snatched her glass off the table and took a long drink, almost draining it. She turned around in her seat and spotted one of the waiters. She snapped her fingers impatiently. "Another," she called, pointing to her near empty drink.

She placed the glass back on the table harshly, causing the silverware to rattle about. "What's your plan?"

Leon stumbled for his response. "Excuse me?" He said.

"You're obviously not doing this out of free-will. What's your escape plan?"

Leon thought about it for a moment. "I don't know." He shrugged. "I think I'm in a good position here." He said, bridging his fingers.

Claire furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" She felt a fire in her stomach.

Leon chuckled nervously; he had poked the bear. _'Oh boy...'_ He thought. "I mean it." He leaned forward. "I may have not made this decision 100% willingly, but now that I'm here, I can't think of any other place I'd want to be."

"Why?" Claire snarled.

"Claire, if I thought that I was going to get this much hostility, I wouldn't have suggested a place where I'm surrounded by sharp instruments." He said, double checking that her hands weren't moving towards anything. "I would have suggested coffee..." His mind went to the thought of her throwing a boiling coffee pot at his head.

Claire bit her tongue to stop from cracking a smile. Leon knew how to maker her laugh, a talent she was glad he had. Because without it, she was sure they wouldn't have made it out of Raccoon City sane. Well, _mostly_ sane.

"Why?" She asked again. "You said you wanted to take down Umbrella. Now you want to get in bed with the same people who covered up Raccoon?" Claire said.

Leon sighed. "Claire, that's what I'm trying to do." She went to speak up, but he placed a finger to his lips and hushed her. "Umbrella has people on the inside and the people I'm working with know that. The problem, is they don't know who it is. _That's_ why I'm not leaving."

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "And how do I know you won't get caught up in the conspiracy?"

Leon frowned and tilted his head, as if asking her why she would even think that. "Claire, I won't."

"Every man has his price."

"But _I don't._ "

Claire let a grin creep onto her face. Leon mirrored her expression.

"Unless it's a woman. Then you're screwed."

They laughed and Leon raised his glass.

It's good to see you, Claire."

"You too, Leon." Claire said, clinking her empty glass to his.

* * *

April 22nd 2016, 2000, Chicago, Illinois

* * *

Claire shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth followed by a small handful of M&M's and chewed loudly. This was her dinner. It was unhealthy, and it was going straight to her thighs, but she didn't care. She flicked through Netflix, trying to find something to watch. She had finished Gilmore Girls for the third-time last night. Scandal was...too real, but she wasn't looking for something funny. And if she had to watch something bad happen to one of those Winchester boys again she was more than likely going to have a nervous breakdown.

She pulled her feet up off the floor, cradling the popcorn bowl in her lap. She sighed and flicked on some 'Netflix Original' that probably involved a lot of drama and a lot of heavily implied sex. The two topics caused her to feel a pang of apathy; she had too much of one and not enough of the other.

Terrasave had to _completely_ rewrite their medication protocols, not to mention several other orders that were going to piss some long time – and vital – manufacturers off. Some of the organizations painkillers had been showing up at the site of several overdoses, causing the company a lot of unwanted time in the spotlight. It was Claire's job to oversee the smooth transition from the old rules to the new ones.

It went without saying that it wasn't going well…

On top of all that, today was the third time she had put forward the motion to change their motto. "'Terr' doesn't always have to end, with 'rist'" She muttered. "Seriously, who comes up with this…" When she first heard the motto, she almost put her head through a desk. When asked _why_ she didn't like it, her response had been 'Have you heard someone say it?' Nonetheless, her pitch hadn't gone well either.

Her phone rang, jostling her out of her thoughts; Korean area code. Claire had had numerous conference calls from Korea the past week. She frowned, beginning to wonder how they'd gotten her personal number.

"Hello, Claire Redfield speaking?" She said in Korean. She tried her best to not sound irritated.

For a few seconds there was no response.

"Hello?" She said, again in Korean. Still nothing… "Hello?" She repeated in English, starting to become impatient.

"Hey, Claire," a croaky voice said on the other side. "I'm sorry…"

"Sherry?" Claire said, almost not recognizing the younger woman's voice. "You speak Korean. Why didn't you say something?" She asked, letting out a light, nervous laugh. Something was up…

Sherry let out a ragged breath. "I'm sorry…" She repeated, choking up.

Claire sat forward slowly. "Sherry, what for?" She asked, concerned. "What's going on?"

"It's Leon," Sherry squeaked, "he's hurt. Really bad."

Claire shot up off the couch, the popcorn bowl flying out of her lap and shattering on the coffee table. She cursed. Her heart sank down into her stomach, feeling it beat faster and faster as her mind raced. "Sherry, what happened?" She repeated, grabbing her keys and wallet off the kitchen table and jamming her feet into a pair of boots. She heard Sherry let out a sob.

"I fucked up. It's my fault, it's all my fault!" She cried.

Claire climbed into her car and had it in third gear by the time she left her driveway. "No, it's not, Sherry." She reassured. Claire had no idea what had happened, but she wasn't about to go blaming her for something she may or may not have done. "Where are you?" She said. Her car was going 50 by the time she reached the end of her street.

"Korea," Sherry managed.

"What city? Seoul?" Claire heard what sounded like an affirmative sound. "Okay, I'm on the next plane. Everything is gonna be fine, okay?"

Sherry sobbed. "Claire, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Claire swerved around a car that was moving _way_ too slow for the fast lane. "Sherry," Claire said firmly, "it's not your fault. I know you, you're a good kid. I _love_ you."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. A sharp, staccato like inhale followed. "I know, Claire. I'm sorry." Sherry said.

She sped up and made it through a _very_ orange light. "Don't say you're sorry, Sherry. It's going to be okay." She licked her lips nervously. "I'm getting on a plane now, I'll be there ASAP." She paused, only the sound of her car engine running high and the mild static on the phone could be heard. "Are you okay?" She felt like she had asked the same question for the umpteenth time.

Sherry sniffed. "I'll be fine." Her voice suddenly clear and coherent. "I'll make sure he doesn't die before you get here."

Claire felt her stomach churn and her whole body went cold. She knew Sherry didn't mean it like that and she elected to ignore it. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you."

"I love you too, Claire." Sherry replied.

Claire hung up the phone and immediately began dialing another number. "Come on…pick up…" She begged.

"Claire? Hey, how you-"

She cut her brother off. "Chris, your little sister needs a favor."

* * *

A/N: I'm not dead.


	21. Afterlife

April 22nd 2016, 1230, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Sherry stared at the microscope in front of her. A small red drop was pressed between two pieces of glass and sat below the lens. She'd been like this for over 20 minutes; sitting there, staring.

Her hands had been shaking when she took the blood. She'd pricked her arm three times before finally finding a vein. There was some humor to the situation though. With the amount of blood pouring from her arm she considered ripping off the bandage, tearing the fresh stitches, and forgoing the needles. The thought _actually_ made her laugh.

She had broken. Her body and her spirit had faltered. But surprisingly, her mind was still intact. She was strong and had been through only marginally worse circumstances than this.

Over two _decades_ of experimentation, _hours_ of solitary isolation from the outside world. _Years_ of seeing the same person over, and over, and over again. All she had was herself to stay occupied. When her parents were still alive, she'd create worlds in her head, play games with herself. Even invent imaginary friends, which was odd for a 12-year-old. Once her parents died, and she was under the care of the US government, one of the doctors who visited her every day got her obsessed with reading and painting. But once she realized she had more or less traded one prison for another, she fell back into her old ways.

" _Not now, Sherry. Mommy and Daddy are busy."_

" _We can play after our work is done"_

Their work was never done. She always played, ate, and slept alone. Over time, she learned to accept the situation. She stopped feeling sad when they said 'no'. She stopped hoping. Even after being taken by the US government, nobody else _really_ cared about her. Almost every interaction was a formality.

" _Don't talk to the test subject."_

" _She's not a person, she's an asset."_

" _You see her? Yeah, she's the freak that escaped Raccoon."_

They never thought she could hear them.

But she could. She _always_ heard.

She had 'appropriated' a small lab in the Hospital. She found the act of flashing anything remotely looking like a badge could get you anywhere. That, and looking like she walked out of a war-zone with a gun strapped to her hip. And with enough blood in her hair that made it look like a horrendous dye-job gone wrong helped, too.

It was a typical hospital room; white walls, floors, and ceilings. It looked, aside from unsettling, _extremely_ sterile. The gentle humming buzz of fluorescent lighting began to gently lull Sherry to sleep. It wouldn't take much. She was running on adrenaline, stress, and anxiety. And when that ran out, either she'd pass out or she'd die. She'd fight for the former.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her strained eyes with her palms. Pressing her closed eye to the eyepiece, she began to count in her head.

' _One…two…three…four...'_

Did she want to go through with this?

' _Five…six…seven…eight…'_

Did she really want to know the answer?

' _Nine…'_

Did she want to find out…?

' _Ten…'_

Alone?

* * *

0c70b3r 15th 7791, 0050 , P070m4c r1v3r

* * *

Leon cast his line into the river once again. The red and white bobber splashed into the water and sent ripples across the surface. He sighed contently, a smile pulling at his lips. He leaned back against the side of the small rowboat and slowly reeled his line in. The clicking breaking the pleasant silence.

It wasn't too warm or too cold, too sunny or too cloudy. No rain, no fog, and no pollution. Leon inhaled deep; the air was clean and smelled of wilderness. The water was clear, and he could see right to the bottom. The maple trees that lined the banks were all a bright red, and bright red roses bloomed all around them.

He drew his line back up, pulled off the green, orange, and yellow lure, and tucked it into his brown fishing vest. Pulling a thin, silver lure from another pocket on his vest, he attached it to his line and recast it into the water.

"So, this is what it's like?" A soft, silky voice said.

Leon looked up across from him with a steady gaze. Sitting across from him, clad in her signature red dress, was Ada Wong.

He smirked. "What are you asking me for? You're the expert on dying."

Ada chuckled and shuffled closer. "I'm not the only one." She gently pressed her lips to his and pulled away. "Now you are, too." She whispered.

* * *

April 22nd, 2016, 1245, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

The park near the Seoul National University Hospital was, on average, a quiet place. Despite being so close to the hospital, many people came here to relax and unwind after school or work. Traditional Korean structures that had been meticulously maintained over centuries dotted the park. Tall, lanky trees covered dirt paths and left long, finger-like shadows on the ground. The day would have been almost perfect. Except for the screaming.

"Hunnigan, what the hell happened?" Director Mansfield screamed.

Hunnigan pulled her phone away from her ear as he continued screaming. The reasoning was understandable and warranted. The mission was top-secret, and somebody talked to somebody who shouldn't know.

They had a mole.

His screaming was loud enough that it caused several nearby park goers she was walking by to stare at her. Hunnigan felt her face flush and turned in the other direction. "Sir," she began, "If I may-" She was cut off.

"This is a disaster. I've got two Special Agents on their death-bed. Count them, Hunnigan; _two!_ Another one heavily injured, a dead analyst, and how many dead Agents?" He screamed.

"I don't know, sir. I haven't-"

Mansfield scoffed, interrupting her again. "Do you have _any_ news for me, Ingrid _?_ I ask because the report you promised me hasn't been delivered yet."

Hunnigan swallowed. She had meant to do that. She was waiting on Sherry, but now she was regretting her decision. "The ambush is being taken care of; local police are claiming it was gang activity. The amount of cell phone activity in the area was minimal, so we aren't anticipating any video to surface. But, sir," she said, swallowing, "my main concern is the conflict in North Korea. It didn't exactly end quietly. We may have some explaining to do."

"Wonderful. I'll go ahead and schedule a press conference to announce that we, the United States of America, infiltrated a hostile power. Then, once there, we had an old-fashioned shoot-out in their backyard." Mansfield said. His normally hidden Georgian accent laced his words with anger. "Congratulations, Hunnigan, we're responsible for World War Three."

"Sir," Hunnigan cut in, "would you rather we had not gone in and left a good Agent behind? Or would you rather us have done what we did, take the risks, and live with the consequences?" She said. There was a pause on the other end, the first in a while. Had he had a heart attack?

"Hunnigan, send me your report. I'll make some calls." He sighed.

There was a click on the other end of the phone. Hunnigan let out a long held in breath and felt her shoulders slump. For the first time in years, she didn't know what to do. She was, for the most part, responsible for the state that Leon and Sherry were both in.

Hunnigan always wondered what it meant to ' _get out'_. She'd heard it in movies, read it in books, and generally heard it spoken in hushed tones around the office. But she'd never actually seen anybody 'get out'. Leon had gotten out. And she was the one who brought him back in. And now, here he was; fighting to stay alive. She placed her fingers to her temples and rubbed gently. The migraine was coming…

* * *

Oc70b3r 15th 7791, 0340, P070m4c r1v3r

* * *

"You're dead, Leon."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

" _No,_ I'm _not."_

" _Yes,_ you _are._ "

Leon sighed, brought his fingers to his eyes, and rubbed them. "If I'm dead, then why and _how_ are you here?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Ada crossed her legs and stretched her arms out on the edge of the boat. "Because, Leon," she said with that flirty, knowing smile, "it's me your brain wants. You've always wanted me. Even when we first met," She paused again, for dramatic effect as she undressed him with her eyes. "I saw the way your eyes moved over me. The way you imagined me under my dress." She uncrossed her legs and casually spread them, revealing her entire left leg and thigh. "You ached to know how I felt under your hands. Or the noises I would make when you would do that," she paused again, biting her lip. Her eyes fluttered. "That _wonderful_ thing with your tongue."

Leon swallowed. She was right. Everything she was saying was right. There had been times, after Raccoon City, that they'd gotten together. It was always in secret, to avoid the obvious repercussions. That first night they were together, he got everything he could have wanted from her. If he was blind, he could recall exactly how she looked at him. The desire in her eyes. But now, the way she looked at him was…unsettling. "Ada," he began, "I hate you."

Ada laughed. "No, you don't."

"If I was in a room with You and Hitler, and I had a gun with two bullets, it wouldn't even be a question." Leon explained. He watched as the smile on Ada's face grew and he frowned in frustration.

"You'd kill Hitler, right?" She asked.

Leon's face became expressionless. "Eventually. I'd beat you bloody first and get Hitler to paint some pretty artwork of me bashing your face in with the butt of my gun. Hell, what'd be really sick is if I got him to paint the picture using _your_ blood. He'd like that…"

"Then you'd kill Hitler?"

Leon nodded. "I'd complement him on what a great job he did, then I'd kill him."

Ada raised her eyebrows, her smile never leaving her face. "Wow, Leon. I never pinned you as an Anti-Semite."

Leon rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "The fucking painting, Ada. I'd complement him on the great job he did on the _painting_! For fuck's sake…" He placed his face in his hand and growled.

Ada shuffled closer and the boat swayed unsteadily. She placed a hand on his upper thigh. "The thing that you're failing to understand is," she said, slowly moving her hand upwards. "I'm your brain."

Leon swallowed hard, trying to control himself. She smelled the same as she did all those years ago... "Get away from me."

Ada smiled, and her eyes narrowed. "I'm _your_ brain. I'm acting on _your_ memories, _your_ thoughts, _your_ desires."

"No." He said, placing a hand on the edge of the boat.

"If you stay with me," she whispered, her hand inching higher. "I'm all yours. I promise."

Leon would have been a liar if he said he didn't think about the offer. An eternity with the woman who he had an unbreakable bond with. How many people in the world would do unspeakable things for that opportunity? An eternity of acceptance, of mutual respect and understanding. An eternity of some of the best sex he'd ever had.

But that wasn't what he wanted anymore; not who _he_ was anymore. And what he wanted from Ada, burned up in the same fire she did more than a year ago.

Suddenly, Leon jerked his leg. Ada fell off balance and created enough distance for Leon to position his foot on one of the wooden boards. Raising himself up, he sat back down hard. The boat rocked haphazardly, sending small waves through the once calm water.

"I hate you." He repeated. "You're a monster."

Once more, he performed the same maneuver. But this time, the boat capsized.

* * *

April 22nd 2016, 1300, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

The dull beeping of the heart-monitor broke the uncomfortable silence in the recovery room. It was a small, private room. A comfortable looking loveseat sat in the corner. Next to it, a not-so-comfortable looking waiting room chair. There was an average sized coffee table with several Korean magazines spread on it. They were probably all outdated by at least six months.

In the bed, hooked up to innumerable amount of wires and electrodes, was a brunette woman. Her face was bruised and cut with several stitches gracing her once beautiful face. A breathing mask covered her mouth, pumping fresh oxygen into her weakened body. Her eyes had almost swollen shut and she had a large bandage on the left side of her cheek. It would scar, but if she was lucky, it wouldn't be too prominent.

The clicking of high-heels on laminate floor reverberated through the room. A lithe figure, clad in all white, dressed like a nurse, walked into the room. Her black hair was short, barely past her ears. It was styled further forward on one side than the other to hide the sagging skin of a chemical burn. And the blood red eye that flashed in the persons skull.

The woman reached down and gently tugged free the call button in the brunette's bandaged and broken hand. It fell to the bedside with a plastic clattering. She stroked the young woman's hair, brushing a stray clump out of her bruised face.

The brunette's eyes struggled to open, and upon seeing who stood over her, widened painfully. Her fingers pressed a button that wasn't there, and what tears could escape, flowed down her cut cheeks.

"There, there," Ada said, stroking Helena's face. "It's alright. I only wanted to come and see how you were doing."

Helena whimpered, unable to scream or cry out. The once regular beeping now came with an increased cadence. She tried to move but found herself unable to do so; the feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. She winced as she felt a stabbing pain in her side.

Ada scolded her with a sarcastic look. "Evidently, not well." She applied pressure to Helena's side and grinned as the woman let out a muffled cry. "That's what broken ribs will do to you, my dear." She cooed. "Try not to cough; it'll only make things worse." Ada leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. She smiled, admiring her handiwork. "He's never going to love you again. You know that, right?"

The beeping intensified as Helena felt her body start to shake, her heart beating out of her chest. Where were the nurses? The doctors? What about the security that should have been positioned at her door!? Had Ada killed them?

Ada smiled. It was the same smile that Helena had grown familiar with under her 'care'. It meant that she was going to be hurt. "See, I know that a part of me could _never_ hurt Leon. And I know that he could _never_ hurt me." She caught her own words and chuckled, stroking the side of her face that sagged like burnt plastic. "Well, at least, not again." She sat down on what little room was left on the bed. She walked her fingers up Helena's body, deliberately taking her time.

Helena moved her hand to protest, but the amount of pressure Ada used to stop her seemed almost effortless. She whimpered again, watching in pure helpless horror as Ada removed the breath mask. She began to choke.

Ada let out a seductive giggle. "But that doesn't mean that I can't hurt him through _you."_ She said and wrapped her hand around Helena's throat. "I'd love to wait until you healed more so I could see the light leave your eyes." She squeezed tight, feeling Helena start to struggle. "But this is just too ripe of an opportunity."

Helena's body protested, her head felt like it was going to explode, pain shocking her nerves as she fought back. Adrenaline fired through her; a last-ditch attempt to survive. She could feel the pins that they'd put in her knees violently start to come loose as she thrashed back and forth. Her ribs bit into her, tearing what little healthy muscle remained. Her broken hands found purchase on Ada's arm, trying desperately to pry her off.

Ada stared down at her, unflinching and unmoving. She sat there; _staring_. Staring at the life that began to disappear through her clenched fingertips. The most unsettling part was her smile. No grimace, no look of strain on her face; not even a wrinkle. The Devil incarnate stared down at Helena.

As her adrenaline began to wane, her strength faded. Her hands, rebroken and bloody from the struggle, fell to her sides. Her legs that once kicked with vigor, stretched out one last time before falling still. Her swollen eyes glimpsed dim light one last time. Her heart-monitor that once beeped with such speed, began to slow. And slow…

And slow…

And slow…

Ada removed her hand from Helena's neck. She stroked her scarred and bruised face.

The beeping had now become a single solid sound.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Helena." Ada said. "You won't be alone for long. I promise." She got off the bed and straightened her clothes. Her heels clicked loudly in a slow, steady rhythm.

And only the sound of the flatlining heart-monitor was louder.

* * *

A/N: Well that had a happy ending... Have no fear!


End file.
